


Justice, Justice Shall You Pursue

by White_Squirrel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Correcting Injustice, Corrupt Magical World, Gen, Goblin Justice, Goblins, Ministry of Magic, Muggle Government, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Muggles defeat Voldemort, marriage law, reality ensues, slight crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Squirrel/pseuds/White_Squirrel
Summary: Goblin courts are inhumane, the Ministry thinks it can arrange marriages, and Voldemort wants to oppress everybody. The muggle government is not amused.





	1. Fifth Year: Obstruction of Goblin Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Gringotts and its goblins.
> 
> A/N: Thanks to Alice1985, Belial666, and Endgames for their advice on this story. I’ve been wanting to address fanon’s loose concept of justice for a while. Too often, the goblins and/or the Ministry think they can do anything they want without repercussions. Not this time. Reality ensues in three episodes.
> 
> On a related note, if you want to see a well-thought-out smack-down of Fudge’s injustice in canon, I highly recommend Long Live the Queen by offsides.
> 
> I admit that goblin justice is actually portrayed as self-consistent in most cases and rarely operates outside the nominal borders of Gringotts, but it still often rises to the level of cruel and unusual punishment or worse. How would a modern western country react to that happening within its borders? Here’s how it might go down. Please note that I’m not particularly familiar with British law, so I apologise for any mistakes.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Gringotts has received notification that you have been recognised as an emancipated minor by the current Minister for Magic as of eight o_ _’clock in the morning on the twelfth of August, 1995. Under Ministry of Magic law and the Gringotts Treaty of 1752, you are thereby considered a legal adult, with all the rights and privileges thereof. Congratulations on reaching this milestone._

_Because of the unusual circumstances of your emancipation, Gringotts conducted an automatic review of your accounts in preparation for transferring properties currently held in trust to your full control, and we discovered several irregularities. We ask that you come to Gringotts at your earliest convenience to resolve these issues and take control of your accounts. Present this letter to the teller to make your appointment._

_Eargit_

_Head of Legal Division_

_Gringotts Bank_

* * *

 

“It’s very simple, Mr. Potter,” the goblin said. “You were entered in a Tournament that was exclusively reserved for of-age wizards—without the consent of your guardians, I might add. When Fudge himself announced you as a competitor in the Third Task, he formally recognised your right to compete, thus making a verbal contract for your emancipation as a Ministry official authorised to do so. At your hearing on the twelfth of August, you were tried as an adult, and that contract was entered into the record, making it official.”

This goblin, Director Bogrod, apparently, wasn’t especially friendly, but he seemed to know his stuff. “Does that mean I’m exempt from the underage magic rule now?” Harry Potter asked him hopefully.

“You’ll have to take that up with your Ministry. Now, can we get down to business?”

“Um…sure.”

“Good. As we explained in our letter, we reviewed all of your accounts in preparation for you to take control of them. Now, since you didn’t see fit to respond to our missive when you were eleven—”

“When I was eleven?” Harry cut in, confused.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. You would have received a full account statement on your eleventh birthday along with a request to acknowledge receipt, as is standard procedure.”

“I never got it, though, Mr. Bogrod,” Harry said.

Bogrod scowled at him: “Are you sure you didn’t simply _misplace_ it, Mr. Potter?”

“No, I would’ve remembered that. I was in Diagon Alley with Hagrid all day that day…If it came to Privett Drive, Uncle Vernon probably burned it.”

Now, Bogrod actually hissed: “Interfering with Gringotts business and destroying correspondence are serious charges. Are you quite sure that’s what happened?”

“No…but that seems mostly likely.”

“Hmm. We will look into that.” He made a note on his parchment. “As I was saying, you will need to look over your account activity for the past fourteen years.”

Bogrod produced a long roll of parchment with many line items of account activity. There were a few withdrawals from the past few years. Harry recognised those from when he bought his school supplies each year. The rest of the ledger constituted two line items for each month for the entire fourteen years. Harry frowned and furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of them. His jaw dropped open when he made the connection. One of the monthly items was an interest payment, but the other…

“Bloody hell! The Dursleys have been getting five hundred pounds a month for me?” he exclaimed.

“They have, Mr. Potter,” Bogrod said, ignoring his coarse language. “I take it you didn’t know about this?”

“No, no idea. They certainly didn’t spend it on me.”

“They didn’t?”

“No, they didn’t. They never spent a penny more on me than they had to.”

Bogrod was busily making notes: “Then what _did_ they spend it on, Mr. Potter?”

“Dudley, mostly. My cousin. Is this legit, Mr. Bogrod? I mean…I didn’t think they even knew about my money.”

“Interestingly enough, it _was_ “legit,” as you say, when it was first set up. Albus Dumbledore set it up immediately after your parents’ deaths for the purpose of your upkeep.”

Harry’s day was getting more and more surreal. “Dumbledore? He could do that?” he said weakly.

“Yes and no, Mr. Potter. We checked your parents’ wills. They would have needed a trustee to manage their estate until you came of age to take control of it. Your muggle aunt could not have been the trustee because, as a wizard, your father’s estate was required to have a magical trustee. Most of the people who were able to take the role were either dead or legally unfit, so Dumbledore was able to take the position as an emergency measure, but after going through all of the possibilities who were ineligible, the position _should_ have been a woman named Andromeda Tonks.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Is she related to Nymphadora Tonks?” he asked.

Bogrod shuffled some papers. “Our files say she has a daughter named Nymphadora,” he confirmed. “The point is that Dumbledore used his emergency powers as Chief Warlock to set up the stipend, which was legal at the time, but he was negligent in his duty to transfer trusteeship to Andromeda Tonks. _That_ is a purely Ministry matter and therefore does not concern us. _However_ , the stipend should have stopped one year after your parents’ deaths, when the trusteeship changed, and our records show that we _informed_ Vernon and Petunia Dursley that it should have stopped.”

“I bet they burned that, too,” Harry grumbled.

“Whatever they did, we are still investigating why the stipend was not stopped, but the fact remains that your aunt and uncle knew or should have known that the stipend was fraudulent from that point onwards. That constitutes embezzlement, a crime against Gringotts itself. Also, for that first year when the stipend was legal, if they did not spend the money on your upkeep as they should have, that is breach of contract. And even your cousin, if he knew where the money they spent on him was coming from—”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Harry muttered. “It would’ve been a good laugh.”

Bogrod scowled again: “Well, then, it would also be receiving embezzled funds. All of your relatives would be liable under goblin law.”

“So what does that mean?” asked Harry.

* * *

 

The four goblins approached Privett Drive under goblin magic similar to the Disillusionment Charm, looking like muggle businessmen so as not to attract attention. They quickly found Number Four and rang the bell.

“Vernon Dursley?” the goblin in front asked when the door opened, revealing a large, mustachioed man.

“That’s me,” Vernon said cautiously, wondering why a group of businessmen would suddenly show up at his house unannounced.

“You’re under arrest for interfering with Gringotts business, destroying Gringotts correspondence—”

“Gringo-what?” Vernon cut him off and put the pieces together. “You’re with those freaks, aren’t you?”

“Freaks, are we?” The goblin in front dropped his disillusionment. “Be very careful what you say next, Dursley.”

Vernon paled and jumped back, babbling incoherently.

“Vernon, what’s happen—EEK!” Petunia screamed when she saw the freakish creatures at her door.

“Petunia Dursley, you’re under arrest for embezzlement and breach of contract,” the goblin said, and they quickly arrested them and dragged them off to the disillusioned carriage they had parked a short distance away. The Dursleys tried to fight, but they were soon subdued with the goblin weapons pointed at them. Dudley then made his appearance and, with more muscle than sense, tried to save his parents with his boxing skills. He was lucky enough not to be seriously injured, and the goblins arrested him too and made short work of subduing him.

As the carriage door with bars on the windows slammed shut on the three of them, the goblin warrior outside shouted at them, “And resisting arrest!”

* * *

 

Vernon Dursley was probably angrier than he’d ever been in his life, and given his infamous temper, that was saying something. But he was worried, too, and that worry was enough to make him put a filter between his brain and his mouth and reason his way through the situation. These—these _creatures_ —goblins or whatever they were—had kidnapped him and his wife and son and dragged him off to a “trial” in some…some _magical_ Star Chamber buried under London somewhere. They were currently in chains and being guarded by short, ugly little brutes with large axes as some supposed charges were read out to them. Dudley was scared stiff, and Petunia was insensible by now, but Vernon was thinking faster than he ever had in his life, trying to find a way out.

As a businessman, Vernon had to know a thing or two about the law, and this was, to use the technical term, illegal as hell. Even if he granted the existence of a magical government—a thought that made him want to spit on someone—they had _no right_ to come into a nice, respectable, _normal_ place like Little Whinging and drag them off to their caves. They had rights, dammit!

What were they even here for? He tried to focus as the complaint was read out. “…that, having been duly informed that the funds they had received were for the care and upkeep of Client Harry Potter, the accused, Vernon and Petunia Dursley—”

 _The accused?_ Vernon thought. _Not the defendant? Do they not use Common Law here?_

“—did knowingly misappropriate those funds for their own use and the use of their son and did wilfully neglect the care of Client Potter, providing only the basest of necessities, and did also wilfully destroy confidential correspondence between Gringotts and Client Potter…”

So it was all about the brat, Vernon thought. Wasn’t he supposed to be expelled a few days ago? Maybe even had that magic wand of his snapped? How did that turn into _this?_

“…having been duly informed that the stipend was to have stopped or been reauthorized as of the first of November, 1982, Vernon and Petunia Dursley knew or should have known that the continued payment of the stipend was fraudulent and did not report the same, but continued to profit from the payments…”

Wait, they weren’t even supposed to be getting the money for the brat now? He didn’t remember hearing about any of that. But then, he’d always burnt any freakish-looking letters they received until that awful giant came for the boy, so he supposed they could have missed that.

“…that Dudley Dursley did knowingly receive payment in cash and in kind from misappropriated and embezzled funds, and that this amount was not less than one sixth of the total liability…”

What the hell? They were getting Dudley involved in this, too? How was that a crime? How was _any_ of it a crime? And even if it was, how could they enforce it…like _this_?

“…Examiner of the Court asks for a judgement against Vernon and Petunia Dursley of punitive damages to Gringotts Bank and punitive and compensatory damages to Gringotts Client Harry Potter,” the goblin read out. “The total compensatory damages to Client Potter—”

Okay, don’t panic, Vernon thought. Five hundred pounds a month for fourteen years was eighty-four thousand pounds. It would be hard, but they could absorb that.

“—with interest—”

_Bugger._

“—calculated according to our standard rates for muggle customers at the time of the fraudulent arrangement—”

_Double bugger. Interest rates were sky-high back then._

“—are estimated at 5,280 galleons, nine sickles, and six knuts.”

Vernon sat slack-jawed for a moment as the scribe wrote. They didn’t even use normal money? After a minute’s thought, he decided it would be safer to ask than not and said, “And how much is that in pounds?”

The goblin whom Vernon guessed was supposed to be his solicitor did some quick figuring and said, “At current exchange rates, 270,627 pounds and seventy-five pence.”

So about fifty pounds to one of those galleon things. That was bad. That would take his retirement account, most of their assets and maybe even a second mortgage on the house.

“The punitive damages to Client Potter, taking into consideration the negative impact of the accused’s fraudulent actions to Client Potter’s long-term physical and mental health and well-being, are estimated at 4,700 galleons. For punitive damages to Gringotts Bank, taking into account the magnitude of the offences against Gringotts, the Examiner requests 5,300 galleons.”

_Buggering hell!_

“The Examiner further requests a ruling that Dudley Dursley is liable for receiving embezzled funds from Gringotts Bank and for punitive damages to Gringotts in the amount of five hundred galleons. Also that Dudley Dursley is liable for compensatory damages to Harry Potter in the amount of sixteen and two-thirds percent, or 880 galleons, one sickle, and sixteen knuts.”

Seventy thousand pounds! That was more than twice what they had in Dudley’s account. What would the goblins do if they couldn’t pay up? Vernon had a bad feeling he was about to find out.

“The Examiner has performed a thorough audit of all of the Dursleys’ assets and has found that they have insufficient funds to cover the requested judgements. Therefore, the Examiner further requests that collections enforcement be employed in the form of confiscation of all monetary assets and a sentence of seventeen years of hard labour against Vernon and Petunia Dursley, and a sentence of three years of hard labour against Dudley Dursley in payment of their remaining debts.”

The goblin inquisitor on the high bench cleared his throat and looked down on the Dursleys with contempt. “The report of the Examiner is entered in the record. Messieurs Dursley, Mrs. Dursley, do each of you understand the charges against you?”

Seventeen years?! Vernon reeled in horror. That was insane! The most you could get for bank fraud was ten years, and that wasn’t hard labour. This wasn’t a prison; it was a damn gulag!

“Mr. Dursley?” the inquisitor repeated.

“How—how can you do this?” Vernon choked out. “We’re not your kind. We don’t live in your world. You don’t have any authority over us. You kidnapped us from our home—!”

“Enough!” the inquisitor snapped. “Mr. Dursley, you have committed serious financial offences against Gringotts and one of our valued clients. By the provisions of our treaty with _your_ human governments, we have every right to prosecute you to the fullest extent of _our_ law. Now, do you understand the charges against you?”

Vernon could tell he didn’t have a chance in this barbaric, medieval court. Yeah, he was guilty. Fine. But this was way beyond excessive punishment! This was insane! He was still in Britain! He was a British subject! How could they have a treaty like that? If the _real_ government knew about this…Wait, maybe that was it. With a glimmer of hope, Vernon tried one last, desperate move: “Wait, do I at least have the right to name my own solicitor under this…treaty?”

“Yes,” the inquisitor growled, looking a bit taken aback.

“Any solicitor I want? Even if they’re not a…er, goblin?”

“Yes, if they agree to represent you.”

“And you have to bring them in to consult on my case?”

The goblin inquisitor hissed in a way that reminded Vernon of an angry wild animal. “Human,” he said sharply, “the treaty clearly states, and I quote, “The Goblin Tribunal shall arrange for any solicitor requested by the accused to attend the trial and to be offered the opportunity to represent the accused’s case.” But I warn you, if you engage in clearly dilatory tactics such as naming someone who isn’t licensed to practice law, _it will not go well for you_.”

That was no problem. The person he wanted was definitely licensed to practice law. He smiled and said, “Then I name as my solicitor Lord Mackay of Clashfern, Lord High Chancellor of Great Britain!”

The entire goblin court stared at Vernon in silence for a moment. An angry murmuring began to rise, which became dramatically louder and angrier when he distinctly heard someone say the word “muggle.” After that, there was shouting, and some goblin page was presumably asked to retrieve a copy of the treaty, though Vernon had to guess what was going on because they were all speaking some foreign language that sounded like gobbledegook to him.

“Vernon, what are you doing?” Petunia finally managed to speak.

“Saving our arses, I hope,” Vernon said. He really hoped that treaty of theirs would apply to the _real_ government. And that these goblins would actually follow it.

Finally, amid much grumbling, the court reached a conclusion. “Very well, human,” the inquisitor growled at him, “we are bound by the treaty to honour your wishes, but know this: your impertinence will not be forgotten.”

If it got him and his family out of here, Vernon could live with that.

* * *

 

Goblins and wizards lived in an uneasy peace, but it was said you wouldn’t know it working the Goblin Liaison Office. Dealing with goblins, they said, was much like warfare: months of boredom punctuated by moments of extreme terror. It wasn’t quite that bad, but after just a year on the job as Head of the Goblin Liaison office, Dirk Cresswell could attest that it was true enough: the goblins rarely bothered to show up in the Goblin Liaison Office unless they were mad about something. It was a prestigious post, though, especially for a muggle-born, since it was without doubt the most important international relations office in the Ministry. It didn’t have the “muggley” taint of the Muggle Liaison Office or the utter pointlessness of the Centaur Liaison Office, and it was certainly the office that needed the most sensitive diplomacy.

And Cresswell knew he’d need every ounce of his diplomatic skill when Ambassador Brodrig the Boss-Eyed stormed into his office.

The Ambassador looked more than characteristically angry—not just the surly look that most wizards thought all goblins had, nor, again, the general annoyance that one normally saw when they came to this office. Cresswell had learnt to read goblin faces pretty well, and he could tell something had genuinely enraged him. Fearing some stuck-up, entitled pureblood had gone and picked a fight inside Gringotts, he cautiously asked what was wrong.

“Muggles! That’s what!” Brodrig shouted. “That _vonirak_ Treaty of 1752 has got the muggles involved in _our_ law.”

Cresswell nearly gasped at the Gobbledegook curse, which was harsh even for Brodrig, but he quickly set himself into the stern pose that one needed to deal with goblins on their level and said, “What muggles, Ambassador? Why are you dealing with muggles at all?”

“Muggle solicitors! We were trying some muggles for embezzlement, and they demanded a muggle solicitor for their trial. The treaty says we have to give it to them.”

“Trying muggles?” Cresswell’s mind was suddenly trying to run on two tracks at once. He had worried about the day that muggles would find themselves ensnared in goblin justice ever since he started as in intern in this office, and part of his mind was already playing out scenarios. The rest of his mind was trying to figure out what on earth was going on. “Why were you trying muggles?” he demanded. “Shouldn’t all of your transactions go through muggle-born wizards?”

“They’re _supposed_ to. That’s exactly our problem. Somehow, these muggles got themselves on a stipend that should have been cancelled, defrauded Gringotts, and destroyed official correspondence. It should have been an open and shut case. Instead, the fat one demanded some muggle lord for his solicitor.”

“Wait, wait, Brodrig. A _lord_?”

“Yes, yes, it’s all here in the file.”

The goblin slapped a file down on Cresswell’s desk. Cresswell nervously picked it up and flipped through it, looking for the appropriate line. “Fortunately, I’m familiar with the muggle government—” he said, and then he saw it. “He demanded the Lord High Chancellor? Bollocks!”

“Approximately what we said, Cresswell. If I understand your government right, you’ll have to go through _your_ Muggle Liaison Office to get him.”

“Yes, something like that. I still don’t understand how this happened, though. How did muggles get involved in this?”

“Oh, it’s in there somewhere,” Brodrig said impatiently. “In where the charges are listed.”

Cresswell found the page with the charges and tried to untangle the goblins’ legalese. “Was set up for Vernon and Petunia Dursley for the care and upbringing of…Harry Potter?! Double Bollocks! We’re gonna need more than the Muggle Liaison office for this.”

* * *

 

Amelia Bones was not having a fine summer. She had it on good authority (namely, Albus Dumbledore) that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back in the flesh. Unfortunately, Fudge was in denial about it, preferring to believe Dumbledore was after his job, and he had the power to fire _both_ of them. Needless to say, she was very busy getting her Auror Department war-ready as much as she could under Fudge’s narrow restrictions, looking the other way with regard to the ones who joined Dumbledore’s little vigilante group, and trying not to get kicked out the door all at the same time. A brushfire on another front was the last thing she needed, and so she was not pleased when Dirk Cresswell from the Goblin Liaison Office rushed into her own office and said, “Madam Bones, we have a problem.”

Amelia Bones rubbed her temples and said, “What is it, Cresswell? _Please_ tell me we’re not having a rebellion.”

“Not yet, we aren’t, but it could get messy. Here, look. Ambassador Brodrig gave me a case file. Short version: the goblins arrested and tried some muggles for embezzlement, and the muggles demanded a muggle solicitor. The Treaty of 1752 says they have to honour it.”

“Tried some muggles?” she said in surprise. “Well, whatever. You need to fold this solicitor into the Statute of Secrecy? The Muggle Liaison Office can do that.”

“That’s what I thought, Madam Bones,” he replied, “but they didn’t ask for just any muggle. They asked for the Lord High Chancellor.”

Bones’s eyes snapped up. “The Lord High Chancellor?” she said incredulously. “Are you joking? Why not name the bloody Queen while they’re at it?”

“The treaty says it has to be someone licensed to practice law, but it doesn’t give any restrictions besides that because, honestly, how often would the accused know someone that high up in the muggle government? But I’m afraid that’s not the worst of it, ma’am.”

“Not the worst? How could it get worse?”

“The goblins arrested three _muggles_. They went into muggle territory, arrested them there, and hauled them into Gringotts in chains. When we tell the muggle government, they’ll see it as a breach of their territorial sovereignty, and a big one—plus kidnapping.”

“But Mr. Cresswell, the treaty says—”

“Most of the muggle government doesn’t the treaty exists, ma’am, and the ones who do are going to resent it. They’ll want complete control of our territory—goblin _and_ wizard. The muggle government’s changed so much in the last two hundred years—and then, there’s the matter of the goblin justice system itself.”

“What about it?”

“Ma’am, you know I’m muggle-born, right? When I first learnt about the goblin justice system, I was afraid something like this would happen sooner or later. Our systems are just too different. They heavily criminalise things that we would give a slap on the wrist. They use _much_ harsher punishments than we do, and it’s even worse compared with the muggle world. Did you know the muggles abolished the death penalty in 1965? The goblins still do summary executions. And the goblins use an inquisitorial court system instead of our adversarial one. We tolerate all that, but I don’t think the muggles will.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you think they’ll do, then?”

“Worst case? They’ll rip the treaty up entirely.”

“My God,” Bones gasped. “You’re sure?”

“It’s definitely possible, ma’am.”

“I never realised…Do we have to honour this, Mr. Cresswell? The Lord Chancellor is only made privy to magic under extraordinary circumstances, and if it could start a war…”

“I think this counts as an extraordinary circumstance, ma’am. Brodrig and I both agree that we’ll want to negotiate some amendments to the treaty when this is over, but for now, we’re bound to honour it, or we renege on our agreements with the goblins.”

Amelia sighed and closed her eyes: “Which would be just as bad…Alright, then. You go grab Warbeck from the Muggle Liaison Office. I’ll tell Fudge to inform the Prime Minister. Then, we’ll go talk to the Lord Chancellor.”

* * *

 

James Mackay, Baron Mackay of Clashfern, the Lord High Chancellor of Great Britain, was in for the shock of his life when the oddly-dressed woman and her two more normal-looking companions walked into his office completely unannounced.

“Excuse me, who are you? What are you doing here?” Lord Mackay demanded, standing from his desk.

“Lord Mackay, my name is Amelia Bones,” the woman said. “My associates are Apollo Warbeck and Dirk Cresswell. And we’re terribly sorry to spring this on you like this, but we have an international incident that only you can help us with.”

Lord Mackay stood up straighter. That _could_ explain the unannounced arrival, and, if true, it was a big deal. However, Amelia Bones didn’t give him a chance to ask about it before she said, “Magic is real.”

He blinked a couple of times. “What?” he said.

Bones reached into her oversize sleeve, and Lord Mackay tensed up, but she only drew a small stick. Then, she waved it at his desk, and his teacup turned into a tortoise.

“Ahh! What the hell?” he yelled.

“Magic is real,” Bones repeated. “Again, we’re very sorry to spring this on you like this, Lord Mackay, but we’re short on time. I am a witch, and my two associates are wizards. There are several thousand of us in Britain, and we convene our own shadow government. The Queen and Prime Minister are aware. I am the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Mr. Warbeck is the head of the Muggle Liaison Office—that is, he is the normally the first point of contact for non-magical people such as yourself—and Mr. Cresswell is the head of the Goblin Liaison Office.”

“Goblins?” Lord Mackay said faintly.

“Yes, and it is a diplomatic and legal dispute with the goblins that brings us to your office today…”

An hour later, Lord Mackay’s head was spinning, but he had a basic understanding of the political situation between the “muggle” or _real_ government, the Ministry of Magic, and the Goblin Nation in Great Britain. Two hours later, he was furious. If these goblins could kidnap British subjects on British soil without anybody even _noticing_ , then, treaty be damned, they had far bigger problems than a simple case of child abuse and embezzlement.

“So that’s the situation, Lord Chancellor,” Mr. Cresswell concluded. “You’re not obligated to take the case, but you are obligated to review it and render your decision.”

Lord Mackay didn’t hesitate. “Of course, I’ll defend the Dursleys if it goes to trial,” he said. “Even they don’t deserve this. But we’re going to need to bring the Prime Minister into this. Our problems go a lot deeper than that.”

Ms. Bones sighed: “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

* * *

 

Prime Minister John Major was, if it were possible, even angrier than Lord Mackay. Three utterly nonsensical visits from that Fudge character in five years, and then, out of the blue, three other wizards (well, one was a witch), showed up in his office with the Lord Chancellor in tow, of all people, and proceeded to give him a two-hour crash course in international politics for countries that supposedly existed within his own borders. At least he understood what the hell Fudge was talking about, now, but somehow, that didn’t make him feel any better.

Wizard child’s parents killed. Child placed with “muggle” (non-magical) relatives. Relatives abuse child and steal from his trust fund. Goblin bankers rule this an offence against the bank _itself_ , which happens to be considered a sovereign nation, and arrest the muggle relatives _outside their bloody jurisdiction_. Relatives are poised to receive a sentence of seventeen years’ hard labour without due process.

Yes, this was a problem.

That was why the Prime Minister and the Lord Chancellor were now walking down the street in a magical shopping district hidden in the heart of London with an “Auror” guard, Mr. Cresswell (being muggle-born, it was easier to go through him directly rather than through Mr. Warbeck), and a creature whose legal name was apparently “Brodrig the Boss-Eyed.”

They came upon a compact marble building with slightly crooked columns, where two goblins with large battle-axes guarded the door. Only Amelia Bones came with them into the bank from among the Aurors, and Mr. Cresswell explained in hushed tones that the Aurors were only there to protect the muggle dignitaries from prejudiced wizards, not goblins.

Once inside the bank, where goblin tellers were sifting through a king’s ransom in jewels as if it were a daily occurrence, Brodrig took the lead. None of the other goblins questioned him when they saw him. He led them to a mine cart that connected the bank floor to the vaults and the lower levels where a majority of the goblins apparently lived (although goblin families often had houses out in the country or even in wizarding communities, Mr. Cresswell had explained). The mine cart was built alarmingly like a roller coaster, but with fewer safety restraints, and the two muggles were greatly relieved when they made it to the courtrooms in one piece.

“You may consult with the prisoners now,” Brodrig said, motioning to a hall of cells. “Once the Lord Chancellor has decided whether to represent them, we will set an expeditious trial date.”

The muggles nodded and entered the cell block. It was mostly empty. With their small population and swift justice, the goblins rarely needed the cells in peacetime. Two of the cells were occupied by shadowed figures significantly larger than goblins.

“Vernon Dursley?” the Lord Chancellor said, “I am Lord Mackay. Are you here?”

In one of the cells, a fat man wearing ragged prison clothes and unkempt hair stood and approached the bars. When he stepped into the light, his haggard face brightened. “Bloody hell, it _is_ the Lord Chancellor!” he said. “Boy, am I glad to see you, sir.”

“Mr. Dursley, is the rest of your family here as well?” Major said, stepping up to see him.

“Oh, hallelujah! The Prime Minister came too, Petunia!” Vernon said.

Petunia was pretty sure that was the most enthusiastic religious pronouncement that Vernon had uttered since their marriage, and she rushed over to see. Sure enough, the Prime Minister was there outside the cell. “Oh, thank you, thank you for coming,” she exclaimed.

“What? They’re here? They’re really here?” A big, burly boy of fifteen or so pressed himself against the bars of the opposite cell. “Thank God! We’ve saved!”

“‘Saved,” is a relative term, Mr. Dursley,” Major interrupted. “Yes, we _have_ come to help all of you. However, it is my duty to inform you before we begin, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley that we will pursue justice in all matters of this case. We still have evidence of child abuse and possible fraud committed against your nephew, and you _will_ be prosecuted as is appropriate, but you’ll be prosecuted under _our_ law, and with a fair trial. And if the file I saw is complete, your son will probably get off with a caution. However, your imprisonment _here_ is illegal under any reasonable measure, and I promise you the Lord Chancellor and I will do everything in our power to get you out of this place.”

“Mr. Prime Minister, if it gets us out of this place, we’ll take that deal,” Vernon said. “You should have heard the things those creatures were saying they’d do to us.”

“I think I can guess, Mr. Dursley,” Major replied. “Lord Mackay, take down their statements. I’ll see if I can talk to whoever’s in charge of this place.”

The Prime Minister rejoined Cresswell and Brodrig at the entrance to the cell block. He looked between the two and said, “Please refresh my memory. Who actually runs Gringotts?”

“Under normal circumstances, Director Bogrod,” Cresswell said, “but if you mean the Goblin Nation as a whole, that would be His Majesty, King Ragnok VII.”

 _They have their own king?_ he thought. _Of_ course _they do._ “Then would it be possible to gain an audience with…His Majesty, then?”

Brodrig scoffed. “His Majesty is far too busy to deal with a simple criminal matter.”

“I _am_ a visiting head of government,” Major insisted.

“And as Ambassador, I am fully empowered to receive you,” Brodrig shot back. “Whatever you have to say, you can say to me.”

“Alright then…” Major said testily. “What would you say if we demanded you release the prisoners immediately into our custody and shut down this entire court for human rights violations?”

“Oh, God, here we go,” Cresswell muttered and rubbed his temples.

Brodrig ignored him. “That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On whether you caught us on a good day. On a good day, we’d laugh in your face and throw you out on your…what’s the word? Oh, yes: your _arse_ …You don’t want to know what we’d do on a bad day.”

Major stared hard at the goblin’s face, trying to read his expression. All he was getting was annoyance. “Mr. Cresswell—?”

“Yes. He would,” Cresswell answered the unspoken question.

“Then…is there a procedure to _request_ an audience with the King?”

Brodrig sighed and retrieved some forms for him to fill out. Major did so, citing a reason of opening formal diplomatic relations between their two nations. A little while later, Lord Mackay finished questioning the Dursleys and informed them that he would indeed be taking the case with the Prime Minister’s assistance.

“Very good,” the goblin said. “The trial will take place at nine o’clock in the morning two days from now.”

“Two days?” Lord Mackay said. “Ambassador, we need time to build our case.”

“You will be provided with copies of the relevant laws and treaties. The trial will take place at nine o’clock in the morning, two days from now.”

Major could tell the goblins weren’t going to yield, so he made his exit while he could still do so in a dignified way. He waited till they got outside before speaking again: “Madam Bones, Mr. Cresswell, I don’t know if I have any formal power over you, but we have less than forty-eight hours to do this, and we could really use your help.”

Bones groaned, “We’re going to regret this, aren’t we Mr. Cresswell?”

“Definitely, ma’am.”

* * *

 

“So the goblin notion of property is that objects are owned by their makers and only leased to their buyers?” Major said.

“That’s right,” Cresswell said. “It causes a lot of trouble since goblin-made heirlooms are so highly prized in our society. We’ve never really been able to set up a comfortable trade system.”

“I don’t see how you managed it at all with them controlling your money supply.”

Cresswell didn’t have an answer to that.

Madam Bones, Dirk Cresswell, the Prime Minister, and the Lord Chancellor were holed up in Number Ten Downing Street, poring over muggle, wizard, and goblin laws to try to make some sense of them. It wasn’t going well, mainly because the muggles hadn’t realised they’d be dealing with such an alien culture.

“And more importantly,” Major continued, “it looks like the goblin notion of jurisdiction is tied to the blood. Crimes against goblins are prosecuted by goblins, and crimes against wizards are prosecuted by wizards.”

“Exactly. But the goblins are always pretty obstructive when it comes to extraditing one of their own.”

“But they’ve committed crimes against the Dursleys under _our_ law. Maybe against the government itself. Can we use that?”

“I doubt it. Those things would fall under the treaty with the goblins. It gives them a lot more latitude than you would think.”

“That can’t be. When did we ever sign a treaty with the goblins?”

“I…honestly, I’m not sure,” Cresswell conceded. “It might be covered under your treaty with the Ministry of Magic…I think I need to call Filius Flitwick, if you don’t mind.”

“Who’s Filius Flitwick?”

“He was my tutor for my Goblin Studies independent study in school, and he’s part goblin himself. He should be able to answer your questions.”

Major’s eyes grew wide. “You mean goblins and humans can have children together.”

“Yes,” Madam Bones said. “Everyone knows that. Why?”

“Because under _our_ scientific definition, being able to interbreed makes us the same species.”

“What?!” they gasped, and Bones added, “Don’t go saying that around wizards.”

“Or goblins,” Cresswell added.

“It _is_ the scientific definition,” Major insisted. “And that means under our law, goblins are human beings _and_ British subjects whether they like it or not.”

“This is worse than I thought. I _really_ hope you don’t have to use that one,” Cresswell told him.

“We’ll see.”

* * *

 

Filius Flitwick was short even by goblin standards, but he actually looked more like a human dwarf than a goblin. The important part, though, was that as someone with one foot in both worlds, he had to know the law inside and out, which made him a welcome addition to their project.

“Here it is,” Flitwick said. “The original Charter of the Ministry of Magic from 1707, signed by Queen Anne. It requires the muggle government to uphold certain key laws such as the Goblin Treaties and the Statute of Secrecy.”

The Prime Minister read over the relevant provisions. “It also requires _you_ to uphold certain key laws like the Magna Carta and the Bill of Rights of 1689.”

“That doesn’t apply to the goblins,” he insisted. “They weren’t party to this agreement. And if you look here, the Charter gives the Ministry of Magic the power to negotiate treaties with the goblins and other races subject to the Statute of Secrecy.”

“I see. And what, exactly, does the Charter say about this Statute of Secrecy of yours?”

Flitwick pointed to another section, and he read it: _The Sovereign of Great Britain and Ireland, or Ministers acting in his or her stead, may inform all such officers of government about the existence of magic as are needful for the efficient maintenance of discreet and efficient relations between the two._

“Oh, this is good,” he said. “I need to talk to the Queen.”

Cresswell looked at that provision Major, and his eyes widened as he realised what the Prime Minister was planning. “Oh, no. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse,” he muttered.

* * *

 

The goblin justice system was very carefully insulated from outside interference, but Prime Minister Major was confident he’d found their Achilles’ heel. Now, it was time to act. _Carrots and sticks_ , he told himself. _Carrots and sticks_. Although, given what he’d seen and heard about the goblins, he was pretty sure he’d need to start with the stick.

He had prevailed upon Ambassador Brodrig, Madam Bones, and Mr. Cresswell to bring enough pressure to get him an audience with the goblin king at eight o’clock in the morning, two days later—one hour before the Dursleys’ trial. That was good. If he was especially lucky, he would be able to finish this before the trial started.

The throne room under Gringotts was one of the most lavish places Major had ever seen. The entire room was gilded all around and encrusted with precious stones that would disrupt the entire global market in the muggle world. The king’s throne was a work of art that would have been the prize of any museum for its craftsmanship alone, not to mention its intrinsic value.

The goblin guards in the throne room wore steel plate armour and carried swords and axes that were so elaborate that they looked like ceremonial weapons, but Major was sure they were perfectly functional. Once he and Cresswell were in place, a goblin herald stepped forward and announced, “All kneel for His Majesty Ragnok VII, Grandmaster Craftsman, President of Gringotts Bank, and King of the Goblin Nation.”

Major bristled at being told to kneel to someone other than the Queen on British soil, but he did it, and then, the goblin king entered the room. Ragnok VII didn’t look like the typical image of a king, even with his regal robes. Nor did he look like a typical bank president. Instead, he bore the image of a blacksmith—large for a goblin, muscular, and with quite a few burns and scars. It seemed as if the “Grandmaster Craftsman” title was the most important part of his public image. He sat on his throne and growled, “Rise humans. Why have you sought an audience with me?”

Major stood and spoke the words he had prepared. “Your Majesty, I am John Major, Prime Minister. I have come on behalf of Her Majesty Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland Queen. We wish to discuss our concerns with the Goblin Treaty of 1752, which was negotiated on our behalf by Minister for Magic Hephaestus Gore, and pursuant to those discussions, to plead the case of Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley, whom you are currently holding in custody pending trial.”

Ragnok’s eyes narrowed. “And what “concerns’ do you have about the Goblin Treaty of 1752, human?”

“It does not conform to our human rights legislation, sir,” Major replied.

There was some murmuring in the goblin language around the throne room. “That is not our concern,” Ragnok said. “The treaty does not provide for any such ‘human rights legislation.’”

“No, it doesn’t, sir, because the treaty is over two hundred years old. However, our own law, which you would recognise as updating the Bill of Rights of 1689, has changed significantly in the intervening time, and it is our government’s policy to update our other laws and treaties in step with these changes. Now, I admit that we have not exercised due diligence in notifying you of this. This was the fault of the wizards’ Ministry, which deliberately kept us ignorant of our own laws. But, strictly speaking, in order to conform to our human rights laws, we must belatedly request to renegotiate the treaty.”

As Cresswell had predicted, that got growls from most of the goblins in the room. But Cresswell had also said to stand firm and show confidence, so that was what Major did.

“You would end a treaty that has kept the peace for centuries?” Ragnok roared.

“Yes, sir, because as it stands now, it may be unable to do so for much longer, for we will soon face a diplomatic crisis.”

“A diplomatic crisis?” the king said. “This is to do with the case of the humans we are holding prisoner?”

Major nodded. “It is, sir. The Dursley family are legally British subjects detained on British soil and thus are protected by our human rights legislation from unjust legal processes and cruel and unusual punishment.”

“You dare question our authority?! I should kill you where you stand!” And Ragnok sprang to his feet and grabbed an enormous battle axe from one of his guards and advanced on him. Even being more than a head shorter than Major, the sight was terrifying to behold.

“Kill me, and others will take my place!” Major said quickly, hoping he still sounded confident. Ragnok stayed his hand and gazed at him suspiciously. “Everything I say today, I say with the full knowledge and approval of the Queen. Killing me would stop nothing and would only harden her against you.”

Ragnok lowered his axe. “Very well,” he growled, “as I see there is no profit in striking you down now, I will hear what you have to say. But know this, human: your queen is overstepping her bounds. Under goblin law, all crimes committed against goblins may be prosecuted under goblin justice, wherever they occur, and the treaty gives us the right to do so.”

Major pressed on, trying to hide the fact that he was shaking in his shoes. (He guessed that Cresswell was doing the same.) “Yes, sir, but the Treaty does not give you the right to operate a military or police force outside your borders. You invaded _our_ territory to detain the Dursleys from their own home, something that is exclusively the prerogative of the local muggle constabulary, or else our sovereignty means nothing. In order to prosecute them, you would first have to present your case for us to arrest them, which we would have done, and then file for extradition. _However_ , because the Dursleys would be subject to cruel and unusual punishment in your courts, extradition would not be granted.”

More shouts of indignation rang out, but to his surprise, Ragnok waved his attendants back and turned to Cresswell. “Ambassador Cresswell, do you agree with the Prime Minister?” he demanded.

Cresswell collected himself to show as little fear as possible and said, “Your Majesty, as a matter of law, I believe the Prime Minister is correct. However, it is the opinion of the Ministry of Magic and my personal opinion that Mr. Major’s plan is ill-advised. As this issue does not directly concern the Ministry of Magic, though, I am here only in an advisory role.”

“Hmm…and do you mean to take back those criminals by force, Prime Minister?” Ragnok said, his voice soft and menacing. Major could hear the axes and rattling around him.

“That is not how we operate, sir. I am merely informing you that if you subject the Dursleys to the cruel and unusual punishment outside your jurisdiction, we would consider it a violation of their human rights and our national sovereignty, declare the Treaty in abeyance, and impose economic sanctions.”

What happened next was completely unexpected: the entire throne room roared with laughter. “Economic sanctions?!” the king said. “You muggles have no direct dealings with us! What sanctions could you possibly impose?”

Major smiled—a smile showing teeth—a smile that Cresswell had warned him should only be used in concert with a threat that equally had teeth: “Why, introducing the pound sterling to the wizarding economy.”

The laughter stopped. “You try my patience, human,” Ragnok said. “We control the entire economic system of the magical world. The treaty gives us a total monopoly. You can do nothing to us.”

“I assure you we can, sir. No law prevents witches and wizards from using pounds. For muggle-borns and their families, it is required to function in society. The exchange rate is stable enough that we could exchange galleons for pounds ourselves and deposit them in the Royal Treasury.”

Ragnok didn’t miss a beat: “We will freeze the accounts of any wizards who violate our monopoly, and the owners will have no gold on hand to trade.”

“If you freeze the accounts of non-criminals, we will consider it theft, compensate the victims, and demand repayment to the Crown.”

“But we could freeze _all_ of our accounts and confiscate _all_ the gold. Where would the wizards be then?”

“Minus a few heirlooms, I’m sure, but not bankrupt, and I’m not convinced they’d be beating my door down rather than yours.” Time for the stick. “The magical world is minuscule compared with the muggle one, King Ragnok. Her Majesty’s Government is prepared, if necessary, to put up a sum of one billion pounds sterling—that is, about twenty million of your galleons—to buy up all of the gold in Gringotts on paper and convert the wizarding economy entirely over to pounds overnight.”

“That would mean war!” Ragnok roared.

“You would lose.”

There was silence as the goblin king stared at the Prime Minister. He had said it so plainly, as if it were the obvious response. “What did you say?”

“I said, you would lose. Your warriors could not possibly hope to prevail against our forces. Even if Gringotts itself can stand up to siege indefinitely, your people cannot.”

“You are bound by the wizards’ Statute of Secrecy. You cannot send your muggle soldiers.”

“Her Majesty’s Government has more leeway than the Ministry of Magic does. We are authorised by our agreement with them to inform whatever government officials we need to for efficient dealings with the magical world, and that includes our soldiers. We can make an entire regiment of our special forces privy to magic in a matter of days and field a force greater than your entire population.”

“We will inflict casualties greater than our entire population!”

“You will still lose. By your standards, our forces are effectively limitless.”

“We have dragons!”

“We have heat-seeking missiles.”

They stared each other down again.

“The Goblin Nation cannot hope to survive a total war against the United Kingdom,” Major added for emphasis.

“You would resort to total war?” Ragnok questioned.

“What do you mean?” he said in confusion.

“We know you muggles. You may think us aloof, but we listen to the words that are uttered within our doors. We deal with the muggle parents of wizard children. We know you people preach culture tolerance more than nearly all wizards, and yet you would resort to such destructive acts?”

“Cultural tolerance will only go so far. Try to push against our sacred values, and _something_ will break. From your words, it’s clear that the same is true of you, else we would not be having this conversation. To answer your question, we have clear rules of engagement. Our soldiers are trained and authorised to meet deadly force with deadly force. Any individual goblin who becomes a clear and present threat to wizards or muggles will be captured if possible or killed if necessary under our rules of engagement. Multiply that across your population, and how much of a nation will you have left?”

As Major watched, he thought he saw a flicker of surprise cross Ragnok’s face, and Major wondering if he was now hiding a twinge of fear. Cresswell looked surprised at that himself. “You would threaten us with genocide, human?” Ragnok said softly.

“Not at all. We find genocide abhorrent; make no mistake about that. Nonetheless, our rules of engagement are clear. We will not seek out the death of any goblin, but any one who runs at our soldiers with an axe will not live long enough to swing it. It is up to you how far that goes.”

“And if it came to that? You would destroy an entire nation over such a small matter?”

“A small spark can start the largest of fires. A single assassination began our First World War. A mere mistake nearly began a nuclear war on several occasions. It is not the small matter itself that is the ultimate cause, but the fundamental incompatibility of our systems. Such a situation is already primed for escalation…Certainly, we don’t wish it. It is only careful negotiation that prevents such wars, and so, I petition you a second time to renegotiate the treaty…Your Majesty.”

Ragnok sat back down on his throne. “Ambassador Cresswell, is all of this true?”

“It is, sir,” he said. “The muggles _can_ do all he says, and I believe they _will_ if you press the issue to the utmost.”

“Hmm, perhaps you have more goblin in you than I thought, Prime Minister,” he said. “I truly thought you would back down from a threat like that. I assume you have demands?”

“We do, sir, but we’ve tried to keep them simple enough,” Major said. Here came the carrot. “Release the Dursleys to us to face justice in our system, stop conducting police and military operations outside your territory, and end the practises of summary execution and corruption of blood. And if you want to renew our extradition agreement, you’ll want to modernise a few aspects of your legal system. If you can do those things, I’m confident we can come to a more _profitable_ arrangement between our two governments.”

“Oh? What sort of profit?” Ragnok said, genuinely interested.

“Mr. Cresswell has been diligent in informing me of the state of goblin-wizard relations, sir. You feel that you have been chafing under the heel of the Ministry of Magic for centuries—allowed control of the monetary system, but little else, confined to narrow patches of sovereign territory, prohibited from using wands, and essentially rendered second-class citizens. _Our_ law recognises no such partiality, and our resources are vast. We can offer you land in one of Her Majesty’s sparsely inhabited or uninhabited territories, many material goods at prices competitive with the wizarding economy, and political backing for your cause of equal rights.”

Major could see the goblins’ eyes widening around the room, and he knew he was speaking their language now. If relations were as bad as he had suspected from Cresswell’s description, this must be sound like the heavens opening for them if it panned out. But he saw Cresswell’s eyes bulge out. “Mr. Major, what are you doing?” he whispered.

“What I have to. And you said yourself said you were only here in an advisory role.”

“Well, I _advise_ you to reconsider this. The Ministry will be livid.”

“Their reaction concerns me no more than the goblins,” Mr. Cresswell. The offer stands, Your Majesty.”

Ragnok regarded him suspiciously. “Such largess will not come cheap, I am sure.”

“No, sir, but it will be readily negotiable. I’ve told you what we ask, and we feel it is not onerous. We are certainly willing to respect your proprietary rights to your unique magic and your distinct property laws. You have little else we want or need at this time, except for your skills in magically protecting our government officials and buildings. We’ve been far too lax about that.”

There was a muttered discussion between Ragnok and his advisers in the goblin language. It sounded heated, with considerable rattling of weapons. Major was pretty sure some of them still wanted to kill him, but after a couple of minutes, an agreement was reached.”

“Well played, Prime Minister,” Ragnok said, “your petition to renegotiate the Treaty of 1752 is granted. Now, since the hour of trial is near, I will release the human prisoners to your custody as a show of good faith. Don’t make me regret it.”

“You won’t, Your Majesty. Let’s get started.”


	2. Interlude 1: Interview with the Sneak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns…er…I can’t remember…
> 
> In canon, Kingsley wipes Marietta Edgecombe’s memories of Dumbledore’s Army. The morality of this is never questioned, and JK Rowling said Marietta deserved what she got, but I’m not so sure. To my surprise, however, this is almost never addressed in discussions of canon or in fanon, so I thought the issue was ripe for this story.
> 
> I’ve actually been sitting on this one for a long time. I was originally going to use it for Lady Archimedes, but that story went a different direction, so I’m glad I finally have a chance to put it out there.

“Dumbledore said they had no evidence of any meetings after the first one, which was before the decree was in effect, and Umbridge asked Marietta if there had been six months’ worth of meetings since then, and she shook her head _no_ ,” Harry explained to his friends. That was the one bit of good news he had. In one terrible night, Dumbledore’s Army had been outed and disbanded, and Professor Dumbledore had taken the fall to keep him from being expelled and was forced to leave the school. Unfortunately, it then fell to Harry to explain to Ron and Hermione what had happened.

“What? Why?” Hermione said in confusion.

“Kingsley modified her memory. She didn’t remember being in the meetings at all, so she couldn’t say any more about them. Unfortunately, that was when Umbridge brought out the membership list—”

“Wait, he did _what_?” Hermione cut in.

“Who?”

“Kingsley.”

“He modified Marietta’s memory so she couldn’t tell them we’d been in meetings all this time.”

“You mean he wiped her mind of the past sixth _months_?” Hermione said in horror.

“Not all of it. Just the meetings,” Harry said, but he hesitated and added, “At least, I think so. She looked kind of confused. But she nodded yes when Dumbledore said tonight was the first meeting.”

“That’s not good. Does she even know why what happened happened?”

“Who cares?” Ron said. “The whole thing’s ruined, now.”

“It _is_ important, Ron,” Hermione said. “Doesn’t she need to know what she did was wrong?”

“Eh, I guess, but doesn’t she?”

“I’m not so sure. She’ll remember signing the original contract, which I…which I admittedly never told anyone was jinxed. And I probably should have…” Hermione’s face fell. “I _really_ should have.”

“What’s the big deal?” Ron said. “She deserved what she got.”

“But if she’d known it was jinxed, she might not have told Umbridge. The point is, though, if she now remembers tonight as the first meeting of Dumbledore’s _new_ group, she has no reason to connect it with the jinxed contract in the first place.”

“Besides Umbridge showing the list with her name on it as evidence,” Harry pointed out.

“I suppose—except she wasn’t even at the meeting tonight. That would be an inconsistency to her. And she’s been hit with a really nasty jinx, for punishment, no less, when doesn’t remember what she’s been punished _for._ I hate what she did, but that’s not fair at all.”

Harry looked at her in confusion. He’d thought it was brilliant, actually. “Even if it’s not fair, what can you do about it?”

“I…I can go see her tomorrow. Try to straighten things out.”

“But Umbridge—”

“I won’t tell her anything actionable, Harry.”

“But she betrayed all of us, Hermione,” he said, his eyes flashing.

But Hermione didn’t bend. “I know what she did was awful, Harry, but it was my jinx, so I’ll be the judge.”

* * *

 

Hermione went to the Hospital Wing first thing the next morning and sought out the Matron. “Madam Pomfrey, I need to speak with you confidentially,” she said, “and I know that’s part of your job, but I just want to be clear that none of this conversation can get back to Umbridge.”

Madam Pomfrey glanced around surreptitiously and ushered Hermione into her office. “Alright, Miss Granger,” she said, “she can’t monitor us in here. Now, what did you have to tell me?”

“Well…did you know Marietta’s been Memory Charmed, ma’am?”

“Of course I did. Professor McGonagall told me, and I would have seen it on the scan, anyway.”

“Good. Can you tell me how much she remembers?”

“May I ask why you want to know?”

Hermione sighed. She might as well say it. “Because I believe I can help her, ma’am.”

Pomfrey’s eyes narrowed at her. “Did you have something to do with the jinx that’s affecting my charge, Miss Granger? It’s proved particularly intractable.”

“I…I’d rather not go too far into it, ma’am. I need plausible deniability, too, with Umbridge around. But I really need to know. It could…it could affect the action of the jinx.” That was true, although it was more about how the answer would affect her judgement of the girl.

“I see. Well, the Memory Charm was very clean. She seems to remember almost everything except for the things Umbridge was questioning her about.”

“That’s good, ma’am. Is it reversible?”

“It should be, but not here. She would need to go to St. Mungo’s, probably for several weeks of therapy. And Professor McGonagall told me in no uncertain terms that reversing the charm would lead to the undeserved expulsion of several dozen students. Do you know anything about that?”

“More than I’m comfortable saying, ma’am, but that was all I needed. I just need to talk to Marietta, now.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Well, if you can help her, alright, but if you cause her any distress, I’ll pull you out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Marietta was hidden behind a curtain in a bed in the far corner of the room. Hermione was pretty sure her jinx wasn’t the reason she was here. It wasn’t _that_ bad. It was probably the Memory Charm and possibly Madam Pomfrey keeping her there whilst she tried to find a cure for the jinx.

“Marietta?” Hermione said, brushing the curtain aside a little bit. “Marietta, could I talk to you for a minute, please?”

There was a sound of sheets rustling followed by a muffled, “Who is it?”

Hermione stepped inside the curtain.

“Granger? _You!_ Cho told me _you_ did this to me!” She dropped the sheet to reveal the painful-looking pimples spelling “SNEAK” across her face.

“Marietta, I came to apologise,” Hermione said.

“You’d better apologise! What did I even _do_?”

“You talked about the D.A., and—”

“ _Why_ do people keep saying that? _You_ all broke the rules! I was just doing the right thing!”

Hermione looked around nervously, but fortunately, Madam Pomfrey hadn’t come and grabbed her yet, so she was able to explain, “Marietta, I’m sorry. I should have thought—You don’t remember everything because your memory was modified, and no, that part wasn’t me…I do agree it was necessary because it saved me and a lot of other people from being expelled, including Cho, but I don’t think it’s fair that you’re in here without knowing why it happened.”

“Are you going to explain, then?” she grumbled. “Because if not, you can get out.”

“Yes, I’m going to explain. First, do you remember the first meeting? The one at the Hog’s Head?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember the parchment we all signed?”

“…Yeah,” Marietta said uneasily.

“That parchment, which I wrote, was a jinxed magical contract. I didn’t tell you that at the time, and I realise now that I was wrong. So I apologise for that unconditionally—”

“Well, bully for you. So _that_ was where the jinx cam from?”

Hermione winced at the double meaning, but she nodded: “The jinxed activated when you told Umbridge about the meeting there.”

“What for? It never even went anywhere, and it wasn’t against the rules at the time. I never got involved in anything else you lot did, either. My parents forbade me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Marietta. You don’t remember being in any other meetings because the Memory Charm covered them up. Despite what Professor Dumbledore said, there _were_ other meetings after that, and you were in them. I can’t tell you any more in case Umbridge pumps you for information again, but you were there. Cho asked you to come.”

Marietta turned pale. “So _I_ was…wait, you mean _that_ _’s_ why my mum was pushing me to tell Umbridge what Dumbledore and Potter were up to for months?”

“You—wait, what?”

“Umbridge was threatening to get my mum fired from the Ministry. She wanted me to inform on you lot in exchange for backing off from her.” Hermione’s eyes widened. “Yeah, didn’t know that, did you, Granger? What was I supposed to do?”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “Recognised that some things are more important? Recognised the Umbridge wouldn’t be in power forever. I guess you were in a tough spot, but…honestly, it depends on whether you believe Voldemort is back or not.”

“Eep!” Marietta squeaked at her use of the name.

They stared at each other in uncomfortable silence for a minute before Hermione sat in the chair beside the bed and tried to get back on track. “Look,” she said, “I’m sorry about your mum, but at least that’s taken care of now. And I’m especially sorry about the contract. If you’d known about it…well, I wanted to fill you in on the part you don’t remember. You see, we were learning _real_ Defence—with _spells_. We were learning to defend ourselves _properly_. Even if you don’t believe Voldemort’s back, we need to be able to defend ourselves against ordinary attackers. But I believe Voldemort _is_ back. I believe we need to learn to defend ourselves from Death Eaters—people who want to kill me personally because of who my friends and family are. But now, because you sold us out, the twenty-eight of us will be less prepared than we would have been, and Professor Dumbledore, the person who was best able to defend the school, is gone. Do you realise that people could _die_ because of your actions, Marietta?”

Hermione saw Marietta start to tear up. She suspected that deep down, the girl _did_ believe that Voldemort was back. Her best friend had lost her boyfriend to that monster. But she’d faced an impossible choice with her mother, and it probably wasn’t helping her to be berated like this. But Hermione was trying to be scrupulously fair, and she needed to make her opinion clear to do that. “I _loathe_ a traitor,” she said, fixing Marietta with a sterner look. A traitor is what lost Harry his parents. The same traitor nearly cost him _and_ me our souls two years ago when the dementors were here. I agree wholeheartedly with the philosophers down the centuries who said betrayal is one of the worst possible crimes…”

She took a deep breath: “But I hate injustice more.” She let the words hang for a moment. “I will fight it wherever it appears, no matter how much my own friends ridicule me for trying to free the house elves or how much they’ll be angry with me for helping you now.”

“Helping?” Marietta said incredulously.

“Yes, helping. You’re lying here, feeling the punishment for a wrong you mostly don’t remember committing. You’ve been denied more knowledge of how to defend yourself than the rest of us, which was never my intent. I can’t do anything about that. I’m hoping you’ll get those skills back once Umbridge is gone, and they can restore your memories. But I _can_ help you with your face.” Hermione stood up and became more businesslike. “That jinx is designed to be resistant to virtually all forms of magical healing, and left untreated, the pimples will last for months and will leave scars—not too many, but probably enough for someone to read them if they look closely.”

Marietta paled again. “ _You_ did all that?” she gasped.

“Yes, I did,” Hermione said, “but fortunately, I left a loophole.”

“How? If they’re resistant to healing—”

“Uh uh,” she shook her head. “I only said they were resistant to _magical_ healing.” She withdrew a small tub of skin cream from her pocket and placed it on the bedside table. “This is ten percent benzoyl peroxide. It’s what muggles use to treat acne. Apply it twice a day, morning and night, and the pimples will be gone in a week or two with minimal scarring. Don’t overuse it, or it’ll dry your skin out.”

“Muggle? You—I—of course, that _is_ something you’d come up with, Granger,” Marietta stammered. “Um…thank you, I guess.”

“I’m just doing the right thing, Marietta. If I want to be better than the Death Eaters—or Umbridge, for that matter—I can’t let my anger get the better of me.”


	3. Sixth Year: First Comes Law, Then Comes Marriage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, and no one owns marriage (thankfully).
> 
> I have a real problem with stories that use forced marriage as a plot device, either through a marriage law or an old-school, Ancient House marriage contract. This goes double if the characters just assume there’s no way out without even trying to look for one. Even in parodies (or rare serious stories) where the forced marriage is defied, it’s rare for the muggle government to get involved, but if the Prime Minister is privy to magic, and at least muggle-borns are legally British subjects, they definitely would. So here’s my take on how it would really go.
> 
> Credit to Katzztar for having the Prime Minister contract the goblins to remove the portrait in his office.
> 
> Again, I’m not familiar with British law, so I apologise for any mistakes.

“So, let’s review the situation,” Hermione said icily. “Even though the Ministry is officially busy fighting Voldemort, cleaning up the mess that Fudge and Umbridge made, dealing with the murder of the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, _and_ the goblins agitating more than they have in decades, and no one knows why…they’ve suddenly decided that the low birthrates amongst the magical population are their ‘number one priority.’”

“That’s a little bit simplistic,” Remus corrected her. “Scrimgeour is definitely focusing on Voldemort, and I think Thicknesse is, too. They both may be wishy-washy politicians, but they have their priorities sorted. “The problem is that certain _other_ interests have enough clout in the Wizengamot to go over the Minister’s head.”

“You know what, Remus? I really don’t care who’s behind this,” she snapped. “I’m a little more preoccupied with the fact that the governing body of this country thinks it has the power to arrange marriages!”

Harry wasn’t sure he had even seen Hermione seething with this much anger, not even when she found out about the Hogwarts house elves or his detentions with Umbridge. Not that he blamed her. Anyone would flip out if someone stomped all over their human rights like that—as she said—especially given whom they were trying to pair her off with.

“Yes, we’re aware how bad this is—” Remus tried to assuage her.

“And that’s did the start of it!” she said. “Did you _read_ this law?”

“We did—”

But Hermione wasn’t listening: “They are mandating that every single witch and wizard in Britain over the age of sixteen marry the person of their choosing by the end of the year, and while that _is_ admittedly the marriageable age in Scotland, it’s still ludicrous. _And_ it says these marriages will be magically binding so that neither divorce nor adultery is possible. Can they even do that?”

“Oh, sure, there’s an old ritual to do it,” Tonks said, and Hermione gaped at her. “It’s not used much anymore, and it probably should’ve been made illegal ages ago, except a few old, rich families still want it available.”

Hermione slid her hand down her face and looked around the room. No one else at the Order meeting was brave enough to interrupt her rant. “Of _course_ they do,” she grumbled. “And it’s obvious who’s _really_ behind this. Harry and all of his friends and associates, including me, have been paired with suspected Death Eaters or Death Eaters’ family members, so clearly, Voldemort’s angling to kill off all of his opposition right under the Ministry’s nose. Does _nobody_ notice this?”

“Don’t look at us, girlie,” Moody said. “ _We_ notice, and Scrimgeour does, too, but none of the prospective spouses have the Dark Mark, and the law doesn’t allow corruption of blood, so they’re untouchable. They abolished the last bits of _that_ after the last war.”

“With Death Eater money, I’m assuming?”

“Aye, but the point is, they’ve got the Wizengamot convinced they’re already taking enough precautions against that sort of thing, because they’re idiots.”

“Yes, we know your opinion, Mad-Eye,” McGonagall cut him off. “Kingsley, is there any way we can protect the children? Can the DMLE do anything to slow them down?”

Kingsley shook his head slowly: “I wish there were. The DMLE is oath-bound to enforce the law, and even if _we_ didn’t do it, they’d find someone who would.”

“Then we’ll leave the country,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

But Kingsley shook his head again: “No good. They’ll already be monitoring all means of travel out of the country, magical _and_ muggle.”

“What? But most wizards can’t even _pronounce_ “electricity.” How can they track electric trains?”

“The DMLE knows enough to put wards on all of the international transport hubs that will trigger if you cross them with the Trace on you. Your only chance is to hide out here under the Fidelius or live entirely muggle until you turn seventeen, _then_ leave. But if they catch you, you’ll be sent to Azkaban immediately.”

“Where we can easily be ‘accidentally’ Kissed by a dementor?” she said shrewdly.

“That’s about the size of it,” Tonks said. “Naturally, you _could_ marry someone else before the law goes into full effect. That’s what Remus and I are doing—after I threatened to string him up by his—”

“Ahem,” Dumbledore coughed.

“Well, anyway, it was a chore to convince him to take the plunge so quick. But even then, they could still kill your husband and pair you with someone else. That _is_ the point of this whole exercise in the first place.”

Hermione took a deep breath: “I could probably hide out until I turn seventeen, but I doubt Harry could, so we need to find another way…Then the _real_ question is, should I murder Draco Malfoy in broad daylight the next time I see him, or should I save the trouble, wait till we get to Hogwarts, and jump off the Astronomy Tower?”

“Kill him!” shouted all of the Weasley kids at once, much to Molly’s dismay.

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore spoke up for the first time, “you should not speak that way.”

“Excuse me, Professor. I was exaggerating. Slightly. I wouldn’t actually jump of the Astronomy Tower. There’s no need to throw my own life away when I could throw Malfoy off it instead.”

“Miss Granger,” he warned as Fred and George continued laughing.

“Hermione, I know how upset you are,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Believe me, with seven children, I’m beside myself, but you can’t just go around murdering people.”

“Yes, I know that, Mrs. Weasley, but that doesn’t mean I won’t defend myself—” A flash of fear crossed her face. “Wait, Tonks, that ritual won’t make me obey him or something, will it?”

“Nah, that’s what the Imperius Curse is for,” she said. “The ritual just acts like a magical chastity belt that only your husband can get through.”

“Okay, ew! But I mean it, Mrs. Weasley. If Malfoy tries to take me to bed, I will use every means of self-defence available to me to stop him, and with a ritual like _that_ , I won’t shed a tear if he dies. If he takes me straight to Voldemort instead, I’ll take as many of them as I can with me.”

“But you’re not gonna let them _do_ it, are you?” Ron said.

“Ron, I…I don’t know. I’m definitely strongly against it, but if I ran and hid, I’d be a fugitive even after I turned seventeen. I wouldn’t be able to take my Apparition test, either. I wouldn’t be able to fight with you and Harry. I don’t know if it would be better to face it head-on than hid until it’s over.”

“I doubt it would,” Remus said. “You’d be bringing the fight to you before you’re ready.”

“It’s the law that’s the problem,” Harry growled. “We need some way to fight it.”

Dumbledore shook his head: “I am sorry, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, but the law is technically legal. There is very little that any of us can do against it.”

“How can you say that?!” she demanded. “In the culture Harry and I were raised in, the Wizengamot deserves to be kicked out of office, at least, just for _voting_ for this. Don’t we have _any_ rights?”

“Normally yes, but not in the face of a corrupt government,” Tonks said.

“Ugh. I’m starting to wish I’d gone to St. George’s all those years ago. I _am_ still a British subject, aren’t I? I feel like—” But she didn’t finish her sentence because he happened to look down and see the newspaper. She opened her mouth to speak again, but she thought better of it and closed it. She wasn’t sure how the Order would react to what she was about to say. “I need some time alone,” she said. “Harry, we can talk later?” She grabbed the newspaper and stomped up the stairs to her room.

She hoped Harry had got the message: she wanted to talk to him _alone_. Ron and Ginny were great friends, but she wasn’t sure if people raised in the magical world would understand these things like she and Harry did.

* * *

 

Hermione was immensely relieved that Harry _did_ , in fact, get her message. He showed up alone at her door and hour later, and she immediately pulled him into one of the other, unused bedrooms. (Mrs. Weasley would flip if he was in the girls’ room for an extended period.)

“Hermione, what was that about?” Harry said. “Why did you stop, er, yelling all of a sudden?”

“Because I had an idea,” she said quietly. “An idea to get us out of this mess, but it’s pretty radical, and I didn’t want to say it in front of the others in case they tried to stop us.”

“More radical than going on the run as muggles?” he asked.

“Yes, definitely. Have you read the _Prophet_ today, Harry?”

“What? No. Why?”

“Just read this headline.” She showed him the article she had spotted earlier. The headline read:

 

_MEETING WITH MUGGLE PRIME MINISTER SCHEDULED FOR NEXT MONTH_

 

“How does that help us?” he said.

“Don’t you realise what that means?” Hermione demanded. From the look on his face, he didn’t. “It means the Prime Minister knows about magic.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell,” he said, “and if he knew about this marriage law, he’d flip out just like you did.”

“Exactly. If we write to him, maybe he’ll be able to do something about it.”

“If he has any power in the magical world.”

“He might. Even Merlin submitted himself to the muggle King Arthur, and the Ministry clearly still has some level of contact.”

“But how will we get a message to the Prime Minister? And why didn’t you ask for help with it downstairs?”

“Well, first, I think we should send a letter with Hedwig. If anyone can get a message through the Prime Minister’s security, it’s her. And as for why I didn’t ask for help…well, how do you think even a well-meaning wizard like Professor Dumbledore or Moody would react to getting the muggle government involved, even if it wasn’t technically against the statute of secrecy?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. They’d be more worried about the muggles screwing things up. But Hermione, if we do this, we need to be careful. We know owls can be intercepted. If anyone outside this place finds out we’re doing…”

“You’re right. That would be even worse.”

“Say, do you think Kreacher could deliver the letter? It seems like he can pop anywhere, and I can give him orders, now. I just need to be careful to close all the loopholes.”

“He couldn’t get to the Prime Minister. Not easily, anyway. I’m sure he’s never been to Downing Street, and even elves can’t Apparate someplace they haven’t been before. He wouldn’t know where to go. Unless…wait, I’ve got an idea. Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go home to ‘talk things over’ with my parents. They should be sympathetic to that—”

“What if the Ministry catches you?”

“I’ll take the muggle train—through smaller stations. They can’t track me if I don’t use magic. While I’m home, I’ll print as many pictures as I can find and as much information as I can find from the Internet and get them back to you as soon as I can. That should give Kreacher enough information to put the letter right on John Major’s desk.”

“That could…that could really work.”

“It should. But let’s get started on the wording of the letter now. We need to make sure Major understands how serious this is and not to tip his hand about what’s going on.”

“And to make sure he believes us,” Harry pointed out.

“That too.”

* * *

 

John Major was very glad he’d been able to organise a proper, _scheduled_ meeting with the new Minister for Magic to get a real assessment of the evil wizard threat and what he and Her Majesty’s Government could do about it. It was high time he got more proactive about the magical world and wasn’t just whisked away when there was some dispute with the goblins and ignored the rest of the time. That effort had gone fairly well in the end, but recalcitrance and prejudice on the wizards’ side had still hampered his efforts.

He was surprised, though, when a magical-looking parchment envelope mysteriously appeared on his desk a few days before his meeting. He hadn’t been expecting that. It certainly looked like it had come from a wizard, but he’d never had a letter just materialise for him before, even after he’d had the goblins remove that obnoxious talking painting and told the wizards, after considering the communication options they offered him, to contact him by owl like everyone else.

A mysteriously materialising letter was suspicious, but after he had a bemused security guard open the envelope, and nothing bad seemed to happen to him, he read it:

 

_Dear Mr. Prime Minister,_

_Do not let any people or portraits see this letter, and burn it after reading it. We can_ _’t be too careful these days. I don’t know how much you know about the magical world, so this might be difficult to follow, but from the newspaper articles I’ve read, it sounds like you at least know about Voldemort and the Ministry of Magic. Please be aware that neither is to be trusted, and their spies could be anywhere. That is why I request your careful discretion in this matter._

_My name is Harry Potter. If you don_ _’t know my name, I’m the boy who supposedly defeated Voldemort in 1981. (I really didn’t. It was my mother who did, but Voldemort eventually came back, anyway.) My friend, Hermione Granger is helping me write this letter. She is a muggle-born witch (a witch born to non-magical parents) and is therefore unequivocally a British subject. We are writing this letter jointly to inform you of a grave injustice currently being perpetrated by the Ministry of Magic and to request for you to attempt to remedy this injustice on our behalf during your upcoming meeting with the Minister for Magic._

_The Ministry, under the guise of attempting to grow the magical population, has passed what is being called the Marriage Law. This law authorises the Ministry to arrange forced marriages and requires all unmarried witches and wizards over the age of sixteen to marry a spouse of the Ministry_ _’s choosing by the end of this year. These marriages are to be carried out with a rarely-used magical ritual that prevents divorce, annulment, or adultery from taking place for the duration of the victims’ lifetimes. Not only are these impending marriages a gross violation of our rights, but they are also a clear sham. This is because I and many of my friends and allies have been ordered to marry known or suspected associates of Voldemort, and we believe they mean to kill us once the rituals are completed, and they have us under their control. (We have strong suspicions that Death Eaters have bribed and or infiltrated the Ministry of Magic at high levels to accomplish this.)_

_We understand if you find all of this hard to believe. We did not want to believe it ourselves, but we can provide evidence. First, if you send a letter through the non-magical post to the Daily Prophet at 77 Diagon Alley in London, you will be able to take out a subscription to our main newspaper. The Prophet is a mouthpiece for the Ministry of Magic, so it is regularly trumpeting the supposed benefits of this new law. We have also included on the back of this letter the names of a number of squibs (non-magical people born to magical parents) and non-magical parents of muggle-born students affected by this law, who can further vouch for the veracity of our claims._

_You should know before your meeting that we believe that the Minister for Magic disapproves of this law, but he was overruled by the Wizengamot (our Parliament and High Court) to pass it. However, we also suspect he may be hostile to interference from the non-magical government, and even if he himself is amenable, the people who must be persuaded to repeal the law likely will not be. In either case, the Ministry may be monitoring most forms of communications, so we urge you to be careful in how you use this information. (If you are reading this letter, we believe we got it to you by one of the few routes that are immune to interception.)_

_We regret that we do not know enough about magical law or the relationship between the magical and non-magical governments to be of more help. We don_ _’t even know whether I (Harry) am considered a British subject or not, though it seems likely that I am. We only request that you bring such influence as you can to bear to repeal this unjust law and, if you cannot, that you provide us with arrangements for protective custody and/or political asylum as appropriate to evade the enforcement of the same._

_If you wish to contact us, please send a letter to Hermione Granger at 17 Salisbury Road, Crawley, West Sussex._

_God save the Queen._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Harry James Potter_

_Hermione Jean Granger_

 

Major was more glad than ever that he’d got rid of that stupid portrait so that it couldn’t read over his shoulder, but he was wary about other forms of monitoring. Did he believe the wizards would attempt a travesty like this? He wouldn’t put it past them. They seemed so archaic in other things. Did he believe they would interfere with his attempts to stop them? Definitely. He would have to play this carefully. He quickly took a note on how to get the newspaper subscription and copied down the list of names they’d supplied before burning the letter as Potter had said. One of them people on the list was even a knight, which looked promising. And he knew who Harry Potter was. The Other Minister had sung his praises at his last visit. As mad as this letter ought to sound, it seemed plausible, and the newspaper and the other contacts would soon reveal the truth.

* * *

 

The Prime Minister was fuming. The wizards’ atrocity of a “marriage law” was real and was just as bad as those children had said. He couldn’t verify the part about the Death Eaters using the law to eliminate their enemies, but the plain meaning of it was bad enough.

He’d had to look back into the convoluted laws that governed the relationship between the Ministry of Magic and Her Majesty’s Government to find that wizards _were_ subjects of the Queen, but they weren’t exactly under the authority of the United Kingdom. But even there, it was complicated. They had a small amount of sovereign territory, but many of them didn’t live in it, and they were free to come and go from it as they wished and were probably legally accountable to both governments in some ways, except that the non-magical government never enforced its claims (mainly because it didn’t know about them). It was a three-hundred-year-old legacy system that was probably superseded by the modern concept of dual citizenship, except they’d never got around to it. But one thing he _was_ sure about was that the Ministry of Magic was probably breaking its own laws and was _definitely_ breaking its agreements with the Crown, so that law had to go.

He hadn’t written back to Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. He suspected they didn’t know much about what had gone on with the goblins last year, and he didn’t actually need any additional information from them. He had a response ready to go if he _did_ need to take them into protective custody, but he had high hopes it wouldn’t come to that, and he could take care of everything in the meeting. If the wizards reacted like the goblins had, there would be no problem.

The new Minister for Magic entered the office with some assistant or other at his side and immediately showed surprise at seeing two men in the room. “Now, Mr. Prime Minister, I…Who is this?” he said.

“Mr. Scrimgeour, this is Mr. Tony Blair, the Leader of the Opposition,” Major said. “We have an election next spring, and if I’m to be honest, he’s probably going to win it. If this drags out, I don’t want him to be caught flat-footed, like I was.”

“We’re not really supposed to tell anyone else…”

“All government officials as are needful for efficient relations, Mr. Scrimgeour,” Major reminded him.

“Er, of course. Pleased to meet you Mr. Blair.”

“Likewise, Mr. Scrimgeour,” Blair said, though Scrimgeour could tell he didn’t really mean it.

“And your associate, Mr. Scrimgeour?” Major asked.

“Oh, of course. This is Pius Thicknesse, the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. Now, we have quite a lot on our agenda, so let’s get to it, if you don’t mind. You wanted more information on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, so I asked Mr. Thicknesse to compile a tactical assessment—”

“Actually, Mr. Scrimgeour,” Major interrupted, “we definitely appreciate that, but we’ve had some new information come to light in the past few days that we need to address first. So…let’s discuss this new ‘Marriage Law’ of yours.”

“Er…where did you hear about that?” Scrimgeour asked nervously.

“I read it in the newspaper.” He held up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ with a headline that read: _MINISTRY OFFICIALS PRAISE NEW MARRIAGE LAW._

“Where did you get that?”

“By owl, of course. Now, it seems that your government believes that it ought to have the power to arrange marriages. This is a problem. Her Majesty’s government disapproves in the strongest terms. We consider it to violate at least the spirit of the Charter of the Ministry of Magic, and the implementation as described will violate the letter in several respects.”

Scrimgeour glanced between the two muggles uneasily as he formulated his response, but Thicknesse beat him to it: “What are you talking about? The marriage law is perfectly legal.”

“Only because the Charter hasn’t been updated since 1707,” Major said. “Something we should have done last year and will definitely be discussing in the near future. But I reiterate that your stated plans to enforce this law are very much illegal, Mr. Thicknesse.”

“How so?”

“Kidnapping, human trafficking, slavery, assault, invasion of our territory—”

“Now, just a minute, Mr. Prime Minister,” Scrimgeour cut in. “I don’t like this law myself. The pureblood interests went over my head to pass it. But don’t think us a gang of repulsive Death Eaters—”

“If the rumours we’ve heard are true, it is the Death Eaters who are behind this, but that is neither here nor there,” Major interrupted. “You mean to detain British subjects on British soil and take them across international borders—if we are applying the Charter strictly—and subjecting them to a ritual irrevocably binding them to another human being against their will in a way that will permanently limit their freedom of movement and association. In case you did not know, under our law, that is called _slavery_. It has been illegal for nearly two centuries, and it is looked upon extremely poorly. There is also kidnapping, trafficking, and illegal detention. And there is this farcical requirement for the couples to produce children unless given a note from a Healer. Now, that does not necessarily make it conspiracy to rape _ipso facto_ , since we have ways to induce pregnancy without intercourse, but it does put the victim at extreme risk of it, and we will be on the lookout for that as well. Death Eaters or not, willing participants in these actions will be arrested, prosecuted, and imprisoned by _our_ courts, Mr. Scrimgeour.”

“Ha! As if you could,” Thicknesse said.

“I repeat: _all_ government officials as are needful,” Major said. “And I might add that we have no problem hiring wizards who are disgruntled with this law into our police forces.”

“You don’t have the authority!”

“Oh, please,” Tony Blair said, quickly getting in on the action. “We’ve both read the relevant laws and spoken with our own legal experts. Even by the narrowest interpretation of our authority, your people must pass through our sovereign territory on a regular basis, and when they do, those who have willingly entered into one of these forced marriages will, at that moment, be committing the crime of slavery and will be subject to arrest, with the unwilling partner being taken into protective custody. For muggle-borns, who are unquestionably British subjects, the story ends there. For others, at the very least, they will be able to apply for political asylum. Either way, you will not be able to take them back.

“And that’s not even accounting for the reasonable argument that can be made that you are _all_ subjects of the Queen, and _all_ of your actions under this law would be accountable to Her Majesty’s Government. If we interpret it that way, the marriage ritual alone could be worth up to sixteen years.”

“Excuse me!” Scrimgeour spat. He may not like the Marriage Law, but he would not let a bunch of muggles try to walk all over the Ministry of Magic unchallenged. “I cannot let that stand. You can’t prosecute us for performing _any_ ritual. You don’t have any laws at all for magic!”

“No, but we do have them for grievous bodily harm, Mr. Scrimgeour,” Major said. “According to your newspaper. This binding ritual of yours would illegally prevent the victim from divorcing or remarrying, leaving us in the unfortunate position of being unable to legally provide full redress. Obviously, killing the perpetrator would work, but we don’t practice capital punishment here. However, I spoke with the Attorney General, and we decided that we _would_ be able to prosecute it as grievous bodily harm, equivalent to injuries causing a total loss of fertility and sexual function. This carries a maximum sentence of sixteen years. And then, there are the kidnapping and human trafficking charges on top of that, and a restraining order if all else fails. Don’t think that this is a situation our legal system is entirely unprepared for. We may have to stretch it, but we can make it work in our favour.”

“Mr. Prime Minister,” Thicknesse growled, “do you have any idea what you’re saying? _We_ enforce _our_ laws throughout all of Britain. You’re free to enforce yours, but our worlds are _separate_. If you try to step on our laws like this, that separation will mean nothing! It would be complete chaos!”

“We’re headed for complete chaos already, Mr. Thickness,” Major said testily. “The so-called separation between our worlds is an illusion and always has been. The muggle-born witches and wizards are legally citizens of both worlds. We checked. They are subject to _our_ laws and the protections of Her Majesty’s Government as well as yours. If you can’t accept that, then we are at an impasse.”

Scrimgeour’s lion-like demeanour seemed to sag. He rubbed his temples, trying to process how this had gone so wrong. “Look, I told you I don’t like this law any more than you do,” he said, “but I don’t have the political capital to repeal it. It passed the Wizengamot by a wide majority, and the interests behind it aren’t going to bend anytime soon. What do you want me to do?”

“Inform the Wizengamot how displeased we are and what the consequences will be for enforcing it.”

“And then what?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Repeal this ridiculous law, and explicitly ban the practice of forced marriage.”

“Impossible! I haven’t been able to get the votes for the first one. The second one would be out of the question.”

“Why?”

“Because some of the old families who _really_ run things still use it—or at least want to have it available.”

“There was a time when our own Royal Family felt the same, but they don’t do that anymore. I’m sure your aristocrats can adapt.”

“And if they, as I expect they will, ignore your warning and enforce the law anyway?”

“Tell Mr. Thicknesse not to comply.”

“They’ll just replace him with someone who will—and me if they have to.”

“Your government is still bound by the Chater, Mr. Scrimgeour,” Major said. “You could tell your Aurors to act on official orders from the Queen not to enforce it.”

“Our people won’t stand for that!” Thicknesse snapped. “You’d risk a coup on the Ministry and the war targeting you directly.”

“You would lose.”

“We…excuse me?”

“You would lose. Bloody hell, Mr. Thicknesse, I already went through this with the goblins. We outnumber you people _five thousand_ to one! You can’t possibly hope to win if you pick a fight with Her Majesty’s Government.”

“You—wait, with the _goblins_?” Scrimgeour said.

“Yes, didn’t you know? I thought Amelia Bones told you. We had a legal dispute with them last year, and we went through this same thing.”

Scrimgeour suddenly appeared completely baffled. “What sort of dispute?” he said uneasily.

“Just a conflict over jurisdiction regarding some supposed crimes against the Goblin Nation. King Ragnok threatened war at one point, too, but we disabused him of that notion very quickly. Of course, we still had to offer some substantial concessions to convince them to change their policies.”

Scrimgeour and Thicknesse stared at each other with growing horror. “You…” Scrimgeour said. “You’re the reason the goblins have been agitating so much over the past year! They’re talking about territory rights and wand use and better trade deals. What on earth did you offer them?”

“Equality.”

“Equality for goblins—” Thicknesse started, but Major cut him off.

“Which really isn’t the point right now,” he said. “We can discuss that later if you want. The point stands: we are perfectly capable of protecting our citizens by force if you press us on it.”

“How? _We_ still have magic, and _you_ don’t.”

“Simple: we have superior numbers, and we know enough of the basics of what magic can do. You see, once we were finally able to do some _real_ research on you, we made an entire regiment of our special forces privy to magic under our treaties just in case you were ever to turn on us. We can field a fighting force larger than your entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Death Eaters put together and do it all without breaking the secrecy you care about so much.”

Scrimgeour wrung his hands. He was definitely caught flat-footed this time, and as a former Auror, he hated that. He felt like he was being backed into a corner. He knew well enough what muggles were capable of. A fully-trained and equipped muggle solider was probably more dangerous than the average Auror. If they _could_ deploy superior forces against the Ministry and You-Know-Who at the same time, they just might be able to win. “Look, Mr. Prime Minister,” he said, “you’ve got me between a rock and a hard place. I don’t want this law, but I don’t have the power to stop it—not even with the Aurors—not even with your ultimatum. The Wizengamot either won’t believe it, or they’ll start agitating against you, too. And I don’t want another war. One’s too many.”

“Well, if you want to stop it, we’ll have to find some other way to effect change. Can you arrange a meeting between us and some of the non-Death Eaters on the Wizengamot who support this law? And would their support be enough to overturn it?”

“Probably, yes, but that could be dangerous.”

“You can provide security, can’t you? I certainly can on my side.”

“Perhaps…Mr. Thicknesse?”

Thicknesse’s fists were clenched at his sides. “Minister, are you serious?” he said. When it looked like his boss was, he tried one more tactic, “And what if we just decided to Obliviate the lot of you, Mr. Prime Minister? You can’t do anything if you don’t remember to.”

Major smiled: “Ah, yes. Yes, I thought we might hit that little snag. You see, we anticipated that after reading about it being done to us muggles in the _Prophet_. We’ve set up a failsafe of sorts using our computers…Do you know what a computer is? It stores, receives, and transmits vast amounts of information instantly and performs calculations faster than any human can with electricity. We have them all over the place, and you would have to go through dozens of our people to even have a chance of finding them all. If a large number of us were to suddenly “forget” about magic, our computers would notify us with secure codes, and we would send our forces at once. We’d also be much more inclined to inform other heads of state. I wonder how your—what was it? International Confederation of Wizards—would feel about that.”

Scrimgeour stared at him for a minute, then muttered, “Damn.”

“So, about that meeting, Mr. Scrimgeour?”

“Okay, okay, the main obstacle would be to convince enough people that your threats actually have teeth,” he said. “I think…I think it would be best to deliver your ultimatum in my press conference about this meeting, and then ask the goblins to testify to the truth of your claims. If that doesn’t convince the Wizengamot directly, I’ll arrange the meeting and have the Aurors bring everyone to it if they don’t cooperate.”

“And you’ll suspend the enforcement of the Marriage Law until we reach an agreement?”

He sighed heavily. “Yes. I might be staking my career on it, but yes. I can tell you aren’t going to bend on this.”

“Only because we haven’t reconciled our human rights laws in three centuries, Mr. Scrimgeour. And thank you for your cooperation. Now, about that terrorist leader of yours…”

* * *

 

_MARRIAGE LAW REPEALED!_

_Enforcement Found to Be Illegal Under Ministry Charter_

_Muggle Prime Minister Made Repeal Condition of Support_

 

“Now _that_ _’s_ how you work the system,” Hermione said proudly. “And I didn’t even have to throw anyone off the Astronomy Tower.”

“I’m glad you were able to find a peaceful solution, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said wearily when she showed off the article to the Order. “I just hope the magical world hasn’t received too great a shock from the Prime Minister. I’m certainly all for equal rights, but I’m not sure if we’re ready for the muggles government to get involved that much.”

“I understand your concern, Professor but after three centuries of dark lords and social stagnation, the magical world needs a kick in the pants. Call me biased, but if the muggle government _did_ find and excuse to take over wholesale, I think it would be an improvement.”

“Hmm, perhaps. But I hope it does not come to that.”


	4. Interlude 2: Habeas Corpus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, and no one owns habeas corpus.
> 
> I apologise for any errors in British law.

Scrimgeour and Thicknesse came back and gave an update on the war effort to Major and Blair every other month. The Prime Minister had wanted it more often, but the wizards pointed out that there was very little the muggle government could do about it, so there really wasn’t much point. They couldn’t make any strategic moves against the Death Eaters since even the wizards didn’t know where they were headquartered.

Major had, of course, increased the security around himself, Blair, the Royal Family, and other top officials, both with muggle guards and, more discreetly, a few wizards he had hired. He had also sent a warning to all of the police forces in the country to watch out for a terrorist group that was fond of skull masks and colourful pyrotechnics. It was pretty much hopeless to try to get a firearms unit to the scene before the Death Eaters left, but at least they would be keeping regular bobbies with batons out of harm’s way. Finally, he had contacted the President of Ireland and was relieved to learn that Scrimgeour was in contact with him, too, even though the President didn’t like being under a British Ministry of Magic.

Snow was falling outside the window at Number Ten Downing Street as Major and Blair waited for the wizards to arrive for their December meeting. They knew the unseasonably cold weather was attributable to dementors—nearly unkillable, nearly uncontrollable, soul-sucking demons that might literally be from the pit of Hell. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Giants were roaming about. They apparently built like tanks and were just as destructive, and his military forces couldn’t even track _them_ because of something the Death Eaters did to hide them.

And then, there were the antics of the legitimate (if you could call them that) magical government. The picture they had been able to piece together from the newspaper articles over the past few months was not pretty.

Scrimgeour and Thicknesse arrived and quickly dried their robes with their wands before greeting them. “Good morning, Mr. Prime Minister,” Scrimgeour said, “if you can call it that. It’s bad business, as usual.”

“So we’ve gathered, Mr. Scrimgeour,” Major said. “We’ve been following the paper. It sounds like things are getting worse. I take it the unexplained disappearances are typical of wartime for you?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s very easy to make someone disappear with magic,” Scrimgeour replied. “Occasionally literally, but often in other ways we can’t track.”

“I see. Of course, we understand if the _Daily Prophet_ doesn’t always give the full story. The attacks on the full moon? Those are werewolves?”

“I’m afraid so—or rather, mostly one werewolf in particular: Fenrir Greyback. I told you about him?”

“Yes, Voldemort’s chief ally—”

“Don’t say that name, Mr. Major!” Scrimgeour snapped.

Major sighed: “Mr. Scrimgeour, I don’t know what superstitions you have in the magical world, but around here, we aren’t afraid to say _any_ person’s name.”

“It’s not just superstition. There are spells that You-Know-Who could use to track anyone who says his name.”

 _What?!_ Major thought. “There are? That would have been nice to know sooner. Has he used them?”

“Not yet, but there’s always the danger. And, Merlin forbid, if he overthrows the Ministry, it’s all but assured.”

“Then I _suppose_ we’ll have to change our policies. Any other pitfalls, taboos, forbidden words, dark rituals, _et cetera_ I should know about?”

“Er…well, I suppose You-Know-Who could do it with any word he wanted, but it has to be something rarely spoken, or he wouldn’t have enough power—and it wouldn’t be of much use to him, either.”

“Good to know. Now, I also wanted to talk to you about some of your own law enforcement actions. I understand you’ve arrested several people on suspicion of being Death Eaters and are holding them without trial.”

Scrimgeour’s expression hardened instantly. “And what exactly do you think you know about that, Mr. Prime Minister?” he demanded.

“I’ve read the arrest reports in the _Prophet_. For example, this Mister…Stanley Shunpike, is it? Overheard talking about the Death Eaters’ secret plans in a pub? You really believe this, Mr. Scrimgeour?”

“The man practically confessed!” he snapped. “He claimed membership in an illegal terrorist group. Did you expect us _not_ to arrest him?”

“It sounds to me like Mr. Shunpike was a mere braggart who got a little too loose with his liquor. Or perhaps not, but I never said we had a problem with you arresting him. Our problem is that we haven’t seen anything about a trial. Have you at least questioned him about it?”

“Well…look here, Prime Minister. These are dangerous times, and certain measures need to be taken—”

“Certain measures?” Major said. “If that’s not the rallying cry of a repressive government, I don’t know what is.”

“Repressive? How dare you—?”

“How dare I? You’re the ones who have established the pattern. This isn’t an isolated incident, and you know it. I was looking through back issues of the _Prophet_ going back to when Vol—er, You-Know-Who reappeared, and I happened to see a very interesting story about a Sirius Black, who was apparently exonerated posthumously after spending twelve years in your demon-guarded prison without a trial.”

“That was _not_ my administration, Prime Minister.”

“Perhaps not, but you seem to be following in their footsteps. You arrest people, you throw them in prison, and if the evidence against them looks shaky, you simply neglect to give them a trial so you can…what, look more competent to the people?”

“It’s not like that. It’s…if the people don’t have confidence in the Ministry, what do we have left.”

“You’ll have to figure that out for yourself, Mr. Scrimgeour. _After_ you release Mr. Shunpike and the others to your Wizengamot for a fair trial, as you are _required_ to do.”

A muscle in Scrimgeour’s face twitched. Thicknesse had been growing progressively angrier throughout the conversation and looked about ready to explode. “As we are _required_ to do?” Scrimgeour demanded.

“Yes! The writ of _habeas corpus_ is part of the Magna Carta. Your people have been required to follow it since even before there _was_ a Wizengamot. Honestly, Mr. Scrimgeour, this is the most clear-cut case yet.”

“You think I don’t know that, Prime Minister? I pay attention. And I know that even in _your_ government, _habeas corpus_ can be suspended by law.”

“And have you passed such a law?” Major asked, certain they hadn’t.

“We don’t need to. The Wizengamot is our chief court. They decide whether to take up the cases. It has the same legal effect.”

Major sat back in his seat. He hadn’t expected that. Scrimgeour’s detention of Shunpike and the others might actually be legal, then. He had to think fast to change tactics. “Well, then,” he said, “I suppose the only thing Her Majesty’s Government can do is express our strong _and public_ disapproval.”

Scrimgeour froze (as did Thicknesse). “Public?” he said.

“Of course. We’re capable of distributing fliers in Diagon Alley if all else fails. Even if you control the press, you don’t control _our_ presses.”

“Now look here,” Scrimgeour said softly, “I’m barely keeping this ship together as it is. The people have to believe we’re actually doing something.”

“Do you? _We_ haven’t suspended _habeas corpus_ since 1817. We made it through two world wars without scuttling it. Things don’t look so bad as that yet. What does it cost you to give trials to the people you’ve arrested?”

“If we let them go, we have nothing to show for our work,” Thicknesse snapped.

“That’s not a legal problem, Mr. Thicknesse. That’s a law enforcement problem. It sounds like perhaps we ought to send some of our forces to help you,” Major offered.

Scrimgeour and Thicknesse looked appalled by the very thought. “This _really_ isn’t the way to do things,” Scrimgeour insisted.

“It doesn’t seem abnormal from our end, Mr. Scrimgeour. And while we’re on the subject, are you sure this prison of yours is secure? You already told me those demonic guards of yours have abandoned you.”

Scrimgeour sighed and rubbed his temples. Thicknesse started to speak, but he waved him back. This problem had been giving him headaches for months. “I’ll be honest with you, Prime Minister,” he said. “We don’t have a prison that can hold You-Know-Who. And while he’s around, we don’t have one that can hold his followers.”

“So you’re saying his magic is stronger than yours?” Major said with a frown.

“ _Yes_ , dammit! Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of, and even he couldn’t actually stop him. The only chance we have to hold the Death Eaters permanently is to petition the ICW to ship them off to Nurmengard in Germany, where they’re holding the _last_ dark lord. But Azkaban will hold them for a while, so it’ll at least slow him down.”

“In other words, your prison is ineffective for the _actual_ criminals. All the more reason to clear out the people who turn out to be innocent. Our position stands. Now, about that assistance—”

“Alright! Alright!” Scrimgeour gave in. “We’ll give trials to the people we’ve arrested, Prime Minister. But we’ll continue to handle our own affairs. Trying to mix our systems now will do more harm than good.”

“Fine, Mr. Scrimgeour,” Major agreed. “We will accept that… _for now_. But our patience is wearing thin with these attacks on our people. We won’t stand for it forever.”

Scrimgeour looked well and truly shaken by the conversation. “I assure you we are doing everything we can,” he said.

“That’s what we’re afraid of.”

“Quite. And Mr. Scrimgeour,” Tony Blair spoke up.

“Yes, Mr. Blair?”

“Remember, our leadership is likely changing in the spring, and my patience isn’t any longer than Mr. Major’s.”

“Understood.”


	5. Seventh Year: Voldemort is Going Down! Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, and The Queen owns the British Army (I think).
> 
> A/N: Voldemort may have got away with a lot in canon with his puppet regime, but if the muggle government was paying more attention due to some other recent incidents, I don’t think they would just roll over when he came to call.
> 
> I was going to do this in one shot, but it would have ended up being my longest chapter ever by a lot, so I decided to split it in two.

Tony Blair, newly minted Prime Minister, _knew_ that something was not right.

He had been eternally grateful to John Major for filling him in about magic before he took office, and even more so because soon after he did, things started to take a turn for the worse. In June, the _Daily Prophet_ breathlessly announced the murder of Albus Dumbledore at the hands of suspected double agent Severus Snape. That was alarming, since Dumbledore was supposed to be the only person the Dark Lord You-Know-Who was afraid of. Without him, You-Know-Who was pretty much free to act as he wished, to hear the wizards tell it. (All this was even more alarming to the new Leader of the Opposition, William Hague, who had been known about magic for less than a week at the time.)

On the second of August, the _Prophet_ announced the death of Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour from unspecified causes. That was less alarming at first, since he had a ready replacement in Pius Thicknesse. But on the third of August, the _Prophet_ didn’t come at all. On the fourth of August, it still didn’t come, and Blair wrote their office. Their reply, checked over by a wizard in his employ, was found to have an undisguised _Confundus Charm_ and several other, less legal charms on it designed to coerce Blair into not writing again or investigating further.

That was definitely suspicious. Clearly, the _Prophet_ had been compromised. But no matter. He sent Alderton to Diagon Alley in person to pick up a copy. When the wizard returned, he looked shaken. The front page was a large picture of the boy hero Harry Potter with the headline:

 

_WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

 

And that clinched it. The Ministry of Magic was compromised, too. How else could they think that Dumbledore’s established ally, Harry Potter, was a suspect when they already knew it was Severus Snape? Page Two was even worse: the Muggle-born Registration Commission. (And few things with the words “Registration Commission” in their name ever ended well.) Stunning new research had claimed to discover that muggle-born witches and wizards could only get magic by “stealing” it from purebloods—never mind that they must somehow do so before age eleven—and those muggle-borns were already being rounded up in the street for their supposed crimes. All this only three days after Scrimgeour’s assassination. The Death Eaters certainly moved fast.

From that point, Blair sent several wizards into their world daily to sound things out, try to figure out how far the corruption went, draw up strategic assessments, and acquire supplies. Several shop owners in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade were scoped out, and from those who were found to be sympathetic, Blair had his people buy out a large fraction of their stocks. Meanwhile, the informants reported that many wizards had swallowed the Ministry’s change of tack whole because the research had allegedly come from a reputable source in the Department of Mysteries—some things were true in both worlds, he reflected—but anyone with sense knew it was a Death Eater ploy, though most were afraid to speak out about it. They didn’t know for sure, but they speculated that the sudden change indicated the new Minister was being controlled somehow. Blair believed it. Thicknesse didn’t seem fond of muggles when he’d met him, but he couldn’t imagine him turning into a dictator.

Yes, it was definitely time to act.

While he was investigating, Thicknesse didn’t arrive for his next scheduled meeting towards the end of in August, so Blair sent a polite request to him and the new Director of Magical Law Enforcement, Yaxley, to come at their earliest convenience to discuss these issues. The reply was again laced with Confundus and Compulsion Charms as well as questionably legal potions to stop him from contacting them again, even worse than the _Prophet_ _’s_ letter. He considered pushing further but thought better of it. If the wizards decided to start using Memory Charms, it could set them back months. Whether they were controlled or not, this was the legal justification enough to move against the Ministry of Magic. Her Majesty concurred and ordered the attack. After more than a year of her subjects being under siege—magical and non-magical alike—they finally had a target.

They couldn’t move immediately, though. Even a small operation like this would need time to plan, careful organisation, and drills for the soldiers to prepare. D-Day was set for Sunday, the thirty-first of August. Most of the Ministry offices would be closed, many families would be distracted getting ready for the start of the Hogwarts term, and they needed to act before the children actually got to Hogwarts and could become hostages, so it was the ideal time.

* * *

 

When morning dawned on the thirty-first of August, the Wizarding World received its biggest shock in over three hundred years as Alpha Company of Her Majesty’s Special Arcane Response Regiment marched up Diagon Alley in full battle gear. The wizards had been caught completely by surprise.

It had been very simple. The government had used eminent domain to buy out and tear down the record shop next door to the Leaky Cauldron months ago. At the time, the wizards had scratched their heads, shrugged, and moved on, thinking it had nothing to do with them. Now, the SARR knocked down the wall separating the now-vacant lot from the back of the pub where the gateway to Diagon Alley was, making an opening large enough to drive a jeep through—literally.

Electronics wouldn’t work in high concentrations of magic, but it couldn’t stop spark plugs from firing or gasoline from exploding—not without deliberate spellcasting that few wizards knew, at least—so the SARR had refurbished some surplus World War II vehicles that had no electronics in them for the mission, adding extra armour and bulletproof glass, knowing that physical armour would stop most malicious magic, including the Instant Death Curse.

At the far end of the Alley, the twin goblin guards who stood outside the bronze doors of Gringotts took one look at the convoy, went inside, and slammed the doors shut. A few minutes later, they came out again, pushed several wizards out of the building at axe-point, hung a sign on the door that read _CLOSED FOR BUSINESS_ , and dashed back inside. The shopkeepers and those wizards who were doing their last-minute school shopping backed away in fear from what to them must have seemed an enormous army rolling down the Alley. Many held their wands up defensively, but none were foolish enough to use them—at least until the phonographs started playing.

An electric megaphone couldn’t be counted on to work in the Alley, but a phonograph could, so the company was equipped with three of the loudest non-electronic models they could find to play a pre-recorded message to every wizard within earshot:

 

_“Attention, witches, wizards, and magical creatures of Great Britain and Ireland. This is Tony Blair, the Prime Minister of Her Majesty’s Government. Hear now a Royal Proclamation from Her Majesty, Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the Magical Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland Queen.”_

An elder woman’s voice sounded from the phonographs: _“Whereas it has become known to us that Ministry of Magic has perpetrated mass crimes against its citizens and in particular against those whose ancestry is non-magical, which crimes include, but are not limited to, kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, unlawful confiscation of property, denial of the due process of law, and ethnic cleansing, we find that these victims who are known as ‘muggle-born’ are citizens of the United Kingdom, many being kidnapped from its sovereign territory in direct contravention of the Charter of the Ministry of Magic granted by Queen Anne. Furthermore, we recognise all citizens of the Magical Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland as our subjects and entitled to all the rights and privileges thereof._

_“Whereas the present Ministry of Magic has, in addition to its crimes of ethnic persecution, committed crimes against its own citizens, and has, in the extremity, committed a magical assault upon the person of our Prime Minister, Tony Blair, with intent to impede the lawful operation of the government of the United Kingdom, we find moreover that our efforts to redress and resolve these grievances peacefully have been met with silence and further assault._

_“We have thus thought fit, with the Advice of our Privy Council, to issue this, our Royal Proclamation: in light of the offences described and others known to us, we can no longer allow the_ status quo _to stand. Therefore, we exercise our authority and revoke the Charter of the Ministry of Magic effective immediately. The Ministry of Magic is hereby totally dissolved, and we declare all those who attempt to prolong its operation to be in rebellion against ourself. The Magical Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland is hereby placed under the authority of our government in the United Kingdom under the leadership of Prime Minister Tony Blair._

_“Given at our court at Buckingham Palace the thirty-first day of August, 1997.”_

At this point, Tony Blair’s voice resumed with a call of _“God save the Queen!”_ The message would have continued from them, but the troops stopped it and restarted it from the beginning because most of the wizards hadn’t heard much of the Queen’s message before the Death Eaters attacked.

The battle was swift and brutal on both sides. The Death Eaters, enraged by the claimed usurpation, began firing Unforgivable Curses at Alpha Company as soon as they figured out what was going on. Several of the muggles were killed immediately, but the rest were shielded, protected by their armoured vehicles, and they returned fire with assault rifles that were faster than any spell and just as deadly. Shouts of _“Expelliarmus!”_ and _“Protego”_ rang out from the Death Eater ranks to dislodge their guns from them. Every first-year student in Hogwarts learnt that those were the first and second line of defence against an armed muggle (at least in years with a competent Defence teacher). The armour cut down on the effectiveness of the Disarming Spell, but the Shield Charm blocked bullets just fine—for a little while, at least—and only the most incompetent of them managed to get themselves shot.

Things got worse for the muggles when the lead Death Eater waved his wand, and the entire lead platoon’s rifles jammed all at once. It looked like they were sitting ducks—until, that is, they brought out their _other_ weapons. Some of them pulled out wands— _wands!_ —and started firing spells to break through the Death Eaters’ shields. And as for the others, well, it turned out that few spells would stop a rocket-propelled grenade from launching, and fewer still were strong enough to shield one from the blast. (The soldiers of course fired their RPGs from atop one the jeeps so they could aim downward and not risk them flying into muggle London.)

Contrary to what some wizards might have thought, Voldemort was quite familiar with muggle military weaponry. He hadn’t been physically present in London during the Blitz, but he was forced to stay there during four of the five summers of the war, and he saw and heard enough horror stories there to last a normal person a lifetime. He knew perfectly well what muggles were capable of. But what he and the rest of the Death Eaters _hadn_ _’t_ counted on was the muggles having a pretty good idea of what _they_ were capable of and preparing for it effectively, including by having a few wizards of their own.

Bravo and Charlie Companies streamed in on foot to reinforce the lines. The muggles were shooting to kill, and casualties were high among the Death Eaters. (They had a complement of non-lethal weapons, but those were for civilians who didn’t take kindly to muggle intrusion and might still be reasoned with.) Since the Death Eaters had Bubble-Head Charms for gas, Shields Charms for rubber bullets and water cannons, Silencing Charms for sonic weapons, and Tasers just required too close a range, the muggles were pretty much limited to stun grenades and their few Battle Mages’ spells if they wanted to take the Death Eaters alive, so they didn’t bother.

Against mostly-muggle forces, the Death Eaters were too stubborn to give up easily, but someone must have alerted the Ministry because within minutes, dozens of wizards in brown Auror robes began to arrive. Luckily, most of the Aurors at this point still had the sense not to side with the Death Eaters against whomever the Death Eaters were fighting. Some were Imperiused and still did, but a majority turned and started attacking the Death Eaters themselves, which is what eventually forced the enemy to retreat.

With the Alley cleared, Alpha Company moved quickly to pick up their dead and wounded and evacuate them, but the mission had only begun. Once the people remaining in the Alley had heard The Queen’s proclamation clearly, they let it run to the rest of the Prime Minister’s message:

_“A curfew is in place effective immediately in Magical Britain. We are now commandeering all public Floos for our troop transport. All citizens in Diagon Alley are to shelter in place until our troop movements are completed and then return to their homes. All Ministry of Magic operations are hereby suspended pending the establishment of a provisional authority. No magic cast at uniformed soldiers will be tolerated.”_

 

As expected, a few wizards tried to defy the orders and either Floo away or attack, but they were deterred by non-lethal means whenever possible. Plenty of them successfully Apparated away, and there wasn’t much the muggles could do. On the other hand, a fair number of Aurors and even a few bystanders approached the soldiers with hands raised and offered to help tend to the wounded, which was gratefully accepted, albeit under close watch.

Meanwhile, Bravo Company split up section by section and entered the Leaky Cauldron and every shop known to have a public Floo to travel to the corresponding public fireplaces in the Ministry. They threw stun grenades through in front of them before stepping through the fire. Charlie Company followed them into the shops and Flooed to Hogsmeade, the only other large concentration of wizards in the country. Hogwarts they deliberately left untouched for now.

Delta Company was split up to handle various trouble spots around the country. The Colonel’s staff and protection detail held back to oversee the mission. A section went to King’s Cross to keep an eye on the area between Platforms Nine and Ten. Another section entered St. Mungo’s and spoke with the staff, who were thankfully understanding and professional and quickly made arrangements to bring in the wounded, sidelining any healers who objected. They did not wish to overrun the hospital, the section said, and only those with life-threatening or magical injuries would be brought there from the battlefields, but they should still be prepared for heavy triage.

Once St. Mungo’s was ready, the Medical Section contacted Alpha Company, and they sent the seriously wounded through from the Alley through Floo. With that done, they could finally free up the facilities for the wizards, who were quickly instructed, despite objections, to go home, and stay there, and to listen to the Wizarding Wireless for updates. With that, Diagon Alley was cleared.

* * *

 

Bravo Company had the hardest job: securing the Ministry of Magic building. Security there would be tight, they couldn’t rely on their guns, and they couldn’t very well fire off RPGs underground. Therefore, they were assigned the largest fraction of the SARR’s battle mages, and they were the only company that had been fully equipped with Shield Hats, Cloaks, and Gloves, and various useful magical gadgets that were, strangely enough, sold in a joke shop.

By the time they got into the Ministry, they were already under fire. Wizards could Apparate directly into the Atrium, and they were quickly rallying the troops. Aurors and other security personnel were lined up and down the Floo banks to meet them, and, despite being disoriented by the stun grenades, they started casting at once. However, unlike most wizards, who would be cowed by such suppressing fire, Bravo Company went in hot. Spells and bullets flew. Portable Swamps, modified to need a specific counter, sprang to life and impeded the Aurors’ movements and, when combined with the Tiny Twister and Weasley’s Wet Weather, whipped up a full-fledged hurricane in the Atrium.

The muggle soldiers, weighed down by their gear and able to take cover behind the Floos, waited out the storm as the wizards were blown about and picked off any attackers who came too close. But the effect didn’t last as long as they’d hoped as the wizards began Apparating out of the way. Most Death Eaters couldn’t use Apparition in combat anywhere near as effectively as their Master could, but it was still a useful tool. Wizards could Apparate out of the swamps and onto dry ground, even though they couldn’t go outside the Atrium. The smarter Aurors ran up to the upper levels of the Atrium and cast down from the windows whilst Magical Maintenance tamped the storm down. (Of course, the _smartest_ Aurors recognised the muggle soldiers for what they were, read the writing on the wall, and either surrendered or fled.)

“By order of The Queen, the Ministry of Magic is dissolved! Surrender your wands, and you will not be harmed!” the captain shouted through a magical megaphone they had procured. As in the Alley, it convinced some of the defenders to switch sides, which was good because they were having trouble with the Aurors on the upper levels. For the rest, while RPGs were a no-go underground, rifle grenades and amour-piercing sniper bullets were deemed acceptable if necessary, and between those and the spellfire, the Ministry’s defenders were quickly brought down.

The greatest trouble came from three enraged figures standing in the middle of the Atrium who, unlike the Aurors, were throwing out Killing Curses and other dark spells with reckless abandon. The soldiers recognised them from their briefing as Pius Thicknesse, Corban Yaxley, and Dolores Umbridge, coincidentally their three top-valued targets in the Ministry from their intelligence gathering.

Since they were casting Instant Death Curses, the troops weren’t too particular about taking them alive.

Yaxley and Umbridge, at least, were pretty good fighters, and with three of them casting like that in a confined space, no one could get close to them. But one enterprising lieutenant used one of the few area-effect attacks they hand available to them: a cannister of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder…followed by a stun grenade.

Without working night vision gear, the SARR couldn’t use Instant Darkness Powder for its intended use, but it had a useful side effect. Instant Darkness Powder was a magically perfect blackbody that absorbed all light around the enemy wizards, and the stun grenade produced seven million candlepower of it. The cloud of powder glowed red hot within seconds—hot enough to set the unfortunate wizards inside on fire, even with a Shield Charm.

Dolores Umbridge ran out of the cloud blind until her forehead collided with the nearest rifle stock. Pius Thickness ran the other way and jumped into the fountain. Yaxley jumped out of the cloud, shedding his burning outer cloak, and kept casting, but with only one of him against a dozen soldiers, he couldn’t stand up to their combined gunfire.

The opposition was crumbling, and it looked like the muggles had won, but then, the temperature in the Atrium seemed to drop to freezing. The lifts opened, and the battle mages saw dozen of dementors pour out. This hadn’t been in the intelligence reports. They thought there might be a few dementors in the Ministry, but not _fifty_. Unkillable and invisible to muggles, they weren’t prepared to handle that many. Those wizards who could cast Patronuses did, but the muggles were gripped by despair and fell into complete disarray. Many froze up or dropped their weapons. A couple lost their heads and fled back through the Floos. Several desperately opened up with machine gun fire, shooting at monsters they couldn’t see. This actually did push the dementors back when they managed to hit them, but it didn’t kill them. One sergeant managed to fire an RPG, which exploded against a pillar and threatened to bring the whole place down before his comrades wrestled the launcher away from him.

The Patronuses probably would have done the trick eventually, but it would have ended with a lot of people Kissed. But the tide turned once more when a ragged-looking wizard stumbled out of the lift, surveyed the scene, and cast a Patronus, but then, he tried something else. He waved his wand, and a tidal wave of water splashed out of the fountain and onto the nearest dementor. With a couple more spells, the water clung to the demon in a shell, and within seconds, it froze solid.

The wizards who were still standing saw the trick and repeated it whilst the muggle officers frantically tried to ascertain what was going on. It took some doing, but the dementors were soon corralled.

“Any more? Any more? Did they get all of them?” the captain demanded.

The chief battle mage surveyed the scene. “I don’t see any more of them swooping around, sir. There could be a few down in courtrooms, though.”

“Send fireteams with one battle mage each to sweep that level. Stay out of the research level, but don’t let anyone in or out of there. Play the royal proclamation in here and then tell the First Platoon to start sweeping upwards.”

“Yes, sir!”

It didn’t take all that much effort after that to secure the Ministry. Some of the witches and wizards resisted, but not nearly as violently as the security forces, and most had the sense to surrender, especially after the soldiers started taking _everyone_ into custody.

The SARR’s commanders insisted after the fact that they _could_ have taken down the magical world on their own, but having some magical help made it _so_ much easier and resulted in much less loss of life. Their critics argued that they might have had to bomb the Ministry outright to do it on their own, so it wasn’t even worth considering.

It was unfortunate, the captain thought, that they had to arrest everyone, but the Ministry was in officially in rebellion against the Crown, and everyone was suspect until they could clear them. Most of the Ministry workers were probably just keeping their heads down and weren’t directly involved in any criminal offences against muggle-borns or others, though. Indeed, some of them fell on their knees in thanks for removing the Death Eaters’ puppet regime: a magical maintenance wizard with a muggle-born wife, a wide-eyed bureaucrat from Level Two who looked like a kid in a candy store upon seeing muggle soldiers, and of course all the prisoners they had freed from the courtrooms. Most of the wizards they led out looked frightened for their jobs and their freedom upon hearing that the Ministry had been dissolved and pleaded that they had nothing to do with the Ministry’s crimes. Unfortunately, the SARR would just have to sort them all out one at a time.

The DMLE records they confiscated would be helpful. They had a long list of files detailing their own crimes and an equally long list of “Undesirables,” both muggle-borns and other supposedly subversive persons who were on the other side.

After things in the Atrium calmed down, Bravo Company was able to start evaluating the operation. It had been ugly, but it could have been much worse. “Bring me the one who figured out that ice trick,” the captain ordered. The wizard was quickly brought before him, and, to his surprise, he recognised him from the briefing, despite his roughed-up appearance.

“You’re Cresswell, aren’t you?” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m surprised you were here. You’re muggle-born, aren’t you?”

“I tried to pass for a half-blood, Captain. I was still trying to pass intelligence to the Prime Minister. I was in the courtroom because they finally figured out I faked my papers. I saw them send all the dementors up here, and I heard them talking about muggles attacking, so I had to see—”

“You did good, son. Saved a lot of our souls, I’d wager. Looks like those things _do_ have a weakness after all. Where’d you learn to use ice like that? It definitely wasn’t in our briefing.”

“Actually, it was a guess, sir,” Cresswell said. “I know they create frost wherever they go, and I remembered seeing _The Blob_ on the telly as a kid…”

The captain laughed. “Capital!” he said. “And that’s why these bigots don’t stand a chance. I’ll be sure to tell the Prime Minister about what you did. You deserve some kind of medal for that.”

“Thank you, sir. What happens now?”

“We question everyone, and once we take care of the Death Eaters, we’ll release everyone who’s clean to build a provisional government—What’s happening, Lieutenant?” he ordered suddenly when he heard a cracking sound.

“These bastards are strong, sir.” Some of the ice shells around the dementors were cracking. “We need to keep them solid.” The muggles still couldn’t see them, but they could get an impression from the apparent voids they left in the ice, and they didn’t like what they saw.

“We’ve got it covered for now, Captain,” the chief battle mage said as he applied more ice. “We just need to ship them back to Azkaban before they can break out.”

“That’s our first priority once we evacuate the building.”

“Yes, sir!”

“I’m afraid we’ll need to take you to the holding facility too, Mr. Cresswell,” the captain added. “We need to free up the manpower. We’ll try to clear it up as soon as we can.”

“I understand, sir,” Cresswell said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. We might need it.”

* * *

 

Charlie Company had some unique challenges in Hogsmeade. By the time they got there, word had spread, and many of the wizards were in a panic. With most of them living in the village, enforcing a curfew in place was more complicated than just clearing the area.

To make matters worse, as soon as the soldiers Flooed in, a deafening Caterwauling Charm went off, filling the village with a loud wailing. Hogwarts was considered a likely place for the top “Undesirables” to turn up, so there were constant Death Eater patrols. A cluster of Death Eaters Apparated in around the shops, but with the carnage in Diagon Alley diverting so many away, they were outnumbered. There were dementors in Hogsmeade, as well, but unlike at the Ministry, their intelligence was correct about their numbers, and the battle mages were able to repel them.

On the other hand, the townspeople in Hogsmeade were a lot more resistant than the shoppers in Diagon Alley, for they feared their homes being invaded by this horde of muggles with weapons they mostly didn’t understand. Many wizards and witches barged out their front doors, brandishing their wands, and quickly getting in the way of the soldiers. A few were shot where they stood. More retreated and regrouped, though, and the largest civilian loss of life of the day occurred when they formed an angry mob formed and marched on downtown. It was an ugly fight that wouldn’t endear the wizards across the country to Her Majesty’s government, but it was unfortunately necessary.

By the time it was over, the residents of Hogsmeade were as cowed by the muggles as they were by the Death Eaters—or almost. With the Caterwauling Charm gone, there was a lot more sneaking around behind the soldiers’ backs towards nightfall, but despite simmering tensions, things seemed to be under control.

* * *

 

Hermione Granger got an early start on the thirty-first of August on another dull shift of watching the Ministry of Magic for any sign of Dolores Umbridge and gathering what other intelligence she could. Sitting under Harry’s invisibility cloak outside the visitor’s entrance, she didn’t expect to see much. She, Harry, and Ron all kept telling each other they were doing something useful—they knew Umbrige had the locket horcrux—but they also knew, even if they wouldn’t admit it, that a witch like her wouldn’t be caught dead using the visitors’ entrance. That was for squibs, wandless “mudbloods”, and other people who couldn’t Floo or Apparate into the Atrium.

Until, that was, the sound of distant explosions echoed across London. Nothing like that had happened all summer. Then, while she debated whether to investigate, a convoy of muggle military vehicles rolled up, roped off that entire seedy corner of London, and proceeded to receive witches and wizards who were, impossibly, being escorted out of the Ministry _at gunpoint!_

Hermione couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The muggle military was intervening? They’d speculated about it a little during the Marriage Law fiasco, but she never thought they’d actually do it. On closer inspection, she noticed that a few of the supposed muggle soldiers had wands themselves. So the Prime Minister was recruiting? How hadn’t she heard? And if they were moving on the Ministry, had they taken Diagon Alley? Maybe more?

As she watched, a few wizards ran or Apparated into the street, perhaps trying to warning the Ministry through the back door, but they were too late and were quickly captured. Hermione’s heart skipped when she saw body bags emerging from the building as well as prisoners, though mercifully few of them. As she kept watching, she finally saw Umbridge. She was alive, but at the moment, she was not accessible to her. She was lucky none of the wizards in uniform cast a _Revelio_ her way as it was.

Hermione Apparated to Diagon Alley—or rather, just outside it—to see the situation there. She gasped in horror.

The Alley looked like a war zone. It was empty of the usual shoppers and businesspeople. Only soldiers, shackled criminals, and dead bodies remained. The street was riddled with craters that she had a bad feeling were from the muggle explosives she’d heard earlier. Store fronts were blown out. Blood and scorch marks from spell damage were everywhere. The muggles had, indeed, gone after the whole of magical Britain at once, and the battle here had been brutal.

Silencing herself, Hermione carefully made her way up the Alley, trying to get a better picture of the situation. Over by Knockturn Alley, a bunch of ne’er-do-wells were standing in a roped off area under guard. It made her uncomfortable to see, even knowing they weren’t very good people. It reminded her too much of the rounding up of muggle-borns that the purebloods were doing.

It got worse when she saw the line of prisoners being led into armoured transport vehicles—handcuffed, shackled, and partially stripped. A pile of Death Eater masks and robes was sitting nearby, and several soldiers were tagging their wands for evidence. She recognised some of them: Dolohov, who had cursed her in the Department of Mysteries and come after them after the wedding; Alecto Carrow, who had invaded Hogwarts on the night of Dumbledore’s death; Nott, the friend of Lucius Malfoy, she was pretty sure another one was. Others had presumably been taken to the hospital, and still others were in body bags.

Then, even as they secured the Alley, the muggle soldiers began documenting and tearing up the Death Eaters’ propaganda. Wanted posters for Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange, the Malfoys, and a couple others who apparently got away were plastered over top of the ones for her, Harry, and Ron. The anti-mudblood leaflets were gone, replaced by leaflets proclaiming the new hegemony of the Queen in magical Britain. It was from discreetly acquiring one of these leaflets that she learnt the details of what was happening. They spelt out the same message that had been proclaimed earlier, she would later learn: the Ministry was dissolved.

This changed everything! The muggles were taking control directly. This would get ugly. It looked like the muggles were trying to take the moral high road and do this by the book, so Mr. Weasley and their other allies in the Ministry would probably be alright, but a lot wizards wouldn’t stand for this. They would fight back, even some who had opposed Voldemort before.

Merlin’s pants! Voldemort! If the muggles were smart (and they were), they’d have seized Diagon Alley, the Ministry, and Hogsmeade and would be monitoring St. Mungo’s by now, and they would delay the start of the school year at Hogwarts until things were safer. With as many Death Eaters as they had captured, they would be able to learn the location of Voldemort’s probable base of operations in Malfoy Manor, and if _Voldemort_ was smart (and he was), he would counterstrike by capturing Hogwarts—the one place that might be able to stand up to everything the muggles could throw at it.

And worst of all, the muggles didn’t know about the horcruxes. Only three people did, for sure, besides Voldemort himself, and they were hiding under Fidelius. They definitely needed to change their plans. Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place and gathered the troops.

“Harry! Ron! Come quick!”

Harry and Ron rushed into the front hall, wands drawn, and were relieved to see she was in once piece.

“Give us a heart attack, will you!” Ron said as Hermione casually silenced Mrs. Black’s portrait. “What happened?”

“The Ministry’s fallen!”

Harry and Ron glanced at each other in confusion. “What are you talking about?” Ron said. “That happened weeks ago.”

“To the _muggles!_ ” she finished.

_“What?!”_

“Harry, remember when the Marriage Law mess was going on? We said the muggle government had the firepower to take down the wizarding world overnight if they wanted to?”

“Yeah—you meant they actually did it?” Harry said.

“Yes! Look, here’s the Royal Proclamation.” She handed over the leaflet. “I sneaked one out of Diagon Alley. The Prime Minister must’ve got wind of the Ministry rounding up muggle-borns and stepped in to prevent a genocide. They couldn’t _not_ if they had British Army forces trained to fight wizards, if you think about it. There are jeeps with mounted machine guns in the Alley.”

“What’s a machine gun?” said Ron.

“A muggle weapon that can kill a lot of people,” Harry answered. “How far did the muggles get?”

“Diagon Alley is pretty much locked down,” she said. “They captured or killed dozens of Death Eaters. And they took over the Ministry and took all the workers prisoner.”

“What about Dad?” Ron gasped.

“I didn’t see him, but it sounds like the muggles are being fair-minded. If he cooperates, they’ll question him and let him go.” _Or recruit him when they see how much he loves muggles_ , she thought to herself. “I’ll bet they have Hogsmeade and St. Mungo’s by now, too.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Harry said. “They’ve got the Death Eaters on the run.”

“It’s not _that_ good, Harry. Voldemort’s still out there, and the muggles don’t know about the horcruxes. They have Umbridge now, too. We’ll have to go talk to them somehow.”

“But how?” Harry asked. “We can’t just walk up to Army, can we?”

Hermione thought for a minute. “Actually, it wouldn’t be that dangerous if we’re clear that we mean them no harm,” she said.

From there, it was a just few minutes’ discussion and some arguing from a sceptical Ron before they returned to the entrance to Diagon Alley. Hermione conjured a white flag and waved it in front of her as she led the way to the nearest soldiers. The section lined up to block their path, and they held their rifles at the ready at their hips, but they didn’t make any aggressive moves. As they drew closer, the corporal called out, “Can I help you, miss?”

“My name is Hermione Granger,” she called back shakily. “My friends are Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. We need to speak to your commanding officer.”

The corporal didn’t immediately respond, but he apparently recognised their names, as she’d hoped they would, because he muttered something to the soldier next to him, who produced copies of the wanted posters of the three of them. The corporal studied their faces and matched them to the posters, though he still eyed them with suspicion. “Why do you need to talk to the CO?” he asked.

“We have critical information on how to defeat Volde—”

“STOP!” the corporal shouted, raising his rifle.

“What?!” she squeaked, and they all raised their hands, even Ron.

“Don’t say that name!”

Harry sighed beside her. “What? You too?” he called. “It’s just a name.”

“Have you been living under a rock, kid? There’s a curse on the name.”

“Huh?”

“If you say his name he knows where you are.”

“What?!”

“It’s called a Taboo Curse,” the lance-corporal said. The trio noticed the lance-corporal carried a wand, though they didn’t recognise his face. “Haven’t you heard of it?” They shook their heads. “The Death Eaters can track any time a certain word is said anywhere in the country and Apparate to that location. It’s tied into the Trace.”

“Wait, is _that_ why Death Eaters have been standing on the street watching us all month?” Harry made the connection.

“They’ve been watching you all month, Potter? How did they not find you?”

“Fidelius Charm.”

“You say you have information to defeat You-Know-Who?” the corporal spoke up again.

“Yes, sir. Dumbledore told us before he died.” Harry looked around the Alley to reassure himself that there were no hostiles listening in. “V—You-Know-Who did…er, rituals to make himself basically unbeatable, but he has a weakness.”

“One of the people you captured at the Ministry has one of the items we need to defeat him,” Hermione spoke up. “There are others hidden around the country.”

The corporal looked to his muggle-born second in command. “Williams, what do you think?”

“If it’s really them, they’ll know what they’re talking about,” Williams said.

He looked back at the trio. “You’ll have to surrender your wands and be searched.”

“Fine,” Hermione agreed.

“And spend twelve hours in isolation to make sure you’re not on Polyjuice.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and nodded. “Ron, if you want to leave, do it now,” Harry said.

“Like hell I will,” he said. “I’m staying with you.”

“But you have a family who’ll be worried about you. We don’t,” Hermione told him.

Ron hesitated at the thought, but he didn’t back down: “They already know I’m with you. I’m staying.”

“Alright. Corporal, tell us what to do,” Hermione agreed.


	6. Seventh Year: Voldemort is Going Down! Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, and no one owns justice.

The trio soon found that the muggles were sparing no expense for security. Ron remarked unhappily that they were being as paranoid as the late Mad-Eye Moody, but the truth was the muggles might have been worse. They were taken to a secure facility, strip-searched, given flimsy blue shirts and trousers that looked suspiciously like prison uniforms, and placed in separate rooms—albeit furnished ones—to stay overnight.

“Bloody hell, muggles actually _do_ that?” Ron had exclaimed when the soldiers explained to him what a strip search was, which probably hadn’t endeared him to them. Hermione was just glad they had a female soldier on hand to search her. She also pleaded with the staff to be careful with her beaded bag, since she had placed a number of dangerous items in it. The rooms—or cells—they were in looked a little off to her, but it took her a while to place it: there was no wood anywhere. They clearly didn’t want to chance them making new wands.

By morning, it was clear that none of them were under Polyjuice. Lance-Corporal Williams then came into each of their rooms and performed several spells to confirm that they weren’t disguised with transfiguration, various charms, or were metamorphmagi. He then dosed them with Veritaserum and a muggle psychiatrist interrogated each of them in turn with various questions that were apparently intended to verify that they weren’t under the Imperius Curse. Even Hermione wasn’t sure how that worked, but they all passed. Finally, they were returned the clothes they were wearing yesterday—laundered and pressed, no less—and led into a small conference room to meet the commanding officer of the muggle forces.

The commanding officer turned out to be a woman—a Colonel Stewart, to be precise. She spoke courteously to them, but they could tell she was still a soldier on high alert. “I’m sorry for how we had to treat you yesterday,” she told them. “I hope you understand it was a matter of security.”

“Of course, Colonel,” Hermione said. If the Ministry had been half this careful, she suspected Voldemort would never have got off the ground.

“I should inform you at the start that the Prime Minister is watching this discussion remotely,” she said. Harry and Hermione were shocked for a moment, but they nodded. “I’ve read all three of your files. By all accounts, you’ve done great service to your country over the years, especially in informing the Prime Minister about the Marriage Law scandal. Thank you for that. Now, before we begin, there’s a bit of paperwork to deal with. All three of you are still minors under muggle law. Your guardians have a right to know that you’re here and are being questioned. Mr. Potter, your guardians are listed as Mr. Weasley’s family.” This was true. Harry had gone to them as the only realistic option after his relatives had been jailed. “I ordered my staff to inform them that you were both safe with us as soon as we were sure you were you.”

“Ma’am—er, Colonel,” Ron interrupted, “is my Dad okay? Oh, and Percy? They would’ve been at the Ministry.”

“They are safe with us, Mr. Weasley,” she replied. “Your father is currently lending his expertise in helping us process everything we took from the Ministry. We were a bit suspicious of him at first because he expressed such a strong interest in us muggles whilst being so clueless about us—” Ron turned red at this. “—but when he verified his stance under Truth Serum, we asked him to help us out. He should be able to visit you later. I’m told Percy was more resistant, but he was captured unharmed. I haven’t checked if he’s feeling more cooperative today.”

“Sounds like Percy,” Ron mumbled.

“Miss Granger, we attempted to contact your parents, but we couldn’t reach them,” Colonel Stewart continued.

“They’re hiding out in Australia, ma’am,” Hermione said cagily. “Out of contact. I don’t know myself where they are.”

Stewart sighed: “Alright, since your birthday’s only three weeks away, I’ll put you down as a crown ward and let it slide. You can stay here if you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’m sure the Weasleys will take me.”

“Very well. Now, you told Corporal Lethbridge that you had critical information to defeat You-Know-Who?”

Hermione and Ron both looked to Harry, who took a deep breath and started talking: “Vol—You-Know-Who made things called horcruxes. They’re…they’re pieces of his soul hidden away in objects and protected to keep him from dying.”

“Like a phylactery in muggle fantasy literature,” Hermione provided.

Colonel Stewart seemed to understand that. “So we have to destroy the horcruxes to kill him?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How many of these are we talking about?”

“Four. He made six, but two have been destroyed already.”

“And _you_ said one of the people we captured from the Ministry had one?” she asked Hermione.

“Yes, ma’am. Dolores Umbridge was wearing it in her picture: a large, gold locket with an ‘S’ on it.”

Stewart checked through her files. “We have it,” she said. “We searched her, and she was wearing it when we brought her in.”

“Tell your men not to touch it,” Harry said urgently. “The two we know about, one had the power to possess people, and the other had a dark curse on it that killed Dumbledore—or would have if Snape hadn’t.”

Stewart nodded and called on her radio, informing the soldiers to take extra precautions with the locket and destroy it as soon as possible.

“You might not be able to do that, ma’am,” Hermione warned her.

“Why not.”

“Horcruxes are nearly indestructible. Only extremely powerful and dangerous magics can destroy them…They haven’t been tested against muggle weapons, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they can stand up to anything short of a nuke.”

She called into her radio again: “Cancel that last order. Lock the locket up, but don’t destroy it. What _can_ destroy it, Miss Granger?”

“Basilisk fangs are the safest way. The other methods are extremely dangerous to produce or carry around. Unfortunately, we don’t have any.”

“Oi, wait a minute,” Ron cut in. “I know where we can get some basilisk fangs. You took over Hogwarts, didn’t you?”

Stewart shook her head: “No, Mr. Weasley, we’re still drawing up plans.”

“Oh,” he deflated, “well, when you do, there’s some under it.”

“Where—oh, the Chamber of Secrets!” Hermione exclaimed. “The basilisk is still in there. That’s brilliant.”

“Always the tone of surprise.”

“You _are_ brilliant, Ron,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But we’ll need Harry to open it. He’s the only Parselmouth we know.”

“Parsel-what?” Stewart asked.

“I can talk to snakes,” Harry told her. “You need to do that to speak the password to the Chamber.”

“I’ll make a note of it. So we have a potential way to destroy the horcruxes. Do you know what the other three are and where they are?”

He shook his head. “I wish I did. One of them is V—You-Know-Who’s pet snake. He keeps it by his side most of the time. Another one is a gold cup that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, but we don’t know where it is.”

“You can probably find pictures of it in the book shop,” Hermione supplied.

“Er, yeah. But the last one we don’t know anything about, except it probably belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw or maybe Godric Gryffindor.”

“That’s not much to go on,” Stewart said with a frown. “Do you know where the other ones were hidden? Is there a pattern?”

“Dumbledore thought there was, but I couldn’t follow it. One was in You-Know-Who’s mother’s childhood home. One was in a sea cave he’d visited from the orphanage where he grew up—the orphanage is gone now, I think. And Lucius Malfoy had the other one we know about.”

She perked up at once. “Lucius Malfoy? One of the top Death Eaters? Is it possible he has any others?”

“Maybe…or another Death Eater could, too.”

“I’ll have all of the ones we captured questioned about it. Hopefully, that’ll turn up something.”

* * *

 

The trio were stuck in the little apartment—or something like an apartment—while the troops got the “holding facility” under control. From what they could tell, there were still a lot of prisoners being brought in, processed, and, in the case of those who were found to be innocent, sent home with instructions to stay away from major magical centres for a while.

Still, Mr. Weasley got a chance to look in on them when he got a break from whatever they had him working on. And he looked like he was having a good time despite the circumstances.

“Ron! Harry! Hermione! Thank Merlin you’re alright,” he said, hugging all three of them in turn. “We knew we couldn’t contact you because you’ve might’ve been hiding somewhere you couldn’t take a message. I was surprised Remus even found you. You’ve been at Headquarters the whole time, then?”

“Yes, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said. “We got lucky Snape didn’t give up the location. I don’t even know what he was playing at.”

“Huh. Yes, you’d have thought he’d give the location to You-Know-Who. Maybe he didn’t think you’d go there.”

“Have you talked to Mum and the others?” Ron asked.

“Yes, Colonel Stewart connected me to them this morning. Of course, everyone panicked when the muggles rolled in. Thought we’d all be locked up or something. They were all relieved to hear you’re safe, of course. And here’s some news: the Twins already knew this was going on!”

“They did?” Hermione gasped. “How? I never heard anything.”

“The muggles told them to keep it a secret. Apparently, a few days after the Ministry fell, some muggle-born tracked them down on behalf of the Prime Minister and asked to buy out their whole stock of defence gear. They’d closed the shop, but they were still doing mail order, so they could do it without anyone noticing.”

“Wicked,” Ron said. “How’s everyone else?”

“Ginny’s fine. Says she wants to see Harry. Charlie’s back in Romania. We’re still trying to get in contact with Bill and Fleur. They’re hidden behind a Fidelius, and Remus is the Secret Keeper, but we don’t know where _he_ is right now. Tonks said he did a runner because he was worried what the muggles would do to werewolves.”

“I can’t imagine they’d give them any trouble,” Hermione said. “Any sensible muggle would understand that it’s just an illness and not really dangerous.”

“Their information might not be accurate,” Mr. Weasley cautioned. “Most of it would have come from the Ministry. Or maybe they’ve been buying out bookshops, too. I don’t know where they found out so much about us, honestly.”

“Do you know what happens next, Mr. Weasley?” she asked.

“Not much. They’re going to try to lift the restrictions and such slowly. They have a plan for reconstituting the Ministry, I think. But it sounds like they’re keeping us on a pretty short leash until they take care of You-Know-Who. They’re definitely not reopening Hogwarts until then. But look on the bright side. They’ve done more in two days to fight the Death Eaters than we did in two years. And did you see all those neat weapons they have? It’s amazing how creative muggles are. They even have this one that knocks you down by shocking you. It’s called a Zater or something.”

“A _Taser_ , Mr. Weasley,” Hermione corrected. Honestly, were all wizards dyslexic around muggles?

* * *

 

It was Rodolphus Lestrange, the only one of the the Lestranges they had in custody, who tipped them off to the horcrux in Bellatrix’s vault. That was harder than it sounded. They almost missed it until they caught him in a lie about something else. When Colonel Stewart asked Arthur Weasley why the Veritaserum wasn’t working, he explained that an accomplished Occlumens could resist its effects. This stumped them for a while until they talked to some doctors and Healers and came up with a workaround. It turned out that when you dosed someone with sodium thiopental _and_ Veritaserum, they lacked the mental will to resist as each drug made up for the shortcomings of the other. After that, it was the easiest interrogation they’d ever run.

When Colonel Stewart questioned Walden Macnair, he tipped her off to a better way to destroy horcruxes, too: throwing them through the Veil of Death in the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry. (The man was an expert on every method of execution in the wizarding world.) This made the “Golden Trio” feel very foolish when she asked them about it, but they agreed that it would certainly work. Nothing came back out of there. Unfortunately, the Department of Mysteries was currently closed. A few of the Unspeakables had surrendered, but most of them had holed up in the Department, and no one could get in. They also knew that the Department had been infiltrated by at least a couple of Death Eaters, who had put out the fake muggle-born research, so they would have to be careful about how they approached it.

Even so, with this knowledge in mind, they could go for the one in Gringotts. Tony Blair personally walked down the still locked-down Diagon Alley under heavy guard to stop in front of the glowing and humming wards of the bank. There were still no goblin guards outside the bronze doors to speak to him, only the sign that read, _CLOSED FOR BUSINESS_ , so he hoped that there was someone just inside or otherwise monitoring the door, as he shouted out, “I am Tony Blair, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and Acting Minister for Magic. I need to speak with King Ragnok or Ambassador Brodrig on a matter of immediate importance to the war.”

He waited a minute, and the doors opened just a crack. A goblin face peaked out to see who was there and promptly closed them again. After several more minutes, they reopened, and Ambassador Brodrig came out, also under heavy guard, and strode up to the ward line. “Minister Blair,” he said. “Here I am. You said you had something important to discuss. What is it?”

“Greetings, Ambassador,” Blair said. “It has come to my knowledge that one of your vaults contains an artifact that is of critical importance to defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I am here to ask you to hand it over to us.”

Brodrig growled. “Our vaults are not subject to search by outsiders, human. You have no right to confiscate property that was entrusted us under the revised Treaty _you_ made us sign.”

“I am aware of that, Ambassador,” he replied calmly. “However, we are not asking for property. We have actionable intelligence that a certain artifact in the vault of one Bellatrix Lestrange houses a part of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s soul. Now, stretching the definitions in the law a bit, that means that the artifact in question is legally a person and therefore cannot be considered property. It also means that you are legally harbouring a criminal, and under that same revised Treaty, we demand his immediate extradition. This is the artifact we are looking for.” He held up a photocopy of a picture of Hufflepuff’s Cup from a book in Flourish and Blotts.

Brodrig’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he considered Blair’s chain of logic. “And if we refuse?” he ventured.

“Then Gringotts will be declared a hostile nation for harbouring a terrorist, and we’ll be in the same position we were in two years ago. Do you _really_ want to find out if your wards will stand up to a bunker buster penetrator, Ambassador?” The last bit was a little much, but the goblins seemed to respond best to that sort of hard-line rhetoric.

The goblin hissed, but he knew he was cornered. “I will speak with the King about this, and we will investigate your claims,” he said. “If they prove to be accurate, we will hand over the…‘criminal’ to you.”

“Thank you, Ambassador.”

It was several hours before they heard from the goblins again, but when they did, Ambassador Brodrig grudgingly handed over the horcrux to the SARR. If they stretched the definitions in the law a little bit the other way, it wouldn’t legally be a summary execution to destroy it, but that would have to wait regardless.

* * *

 

A whole team was assigned to comb through the historical books in Flourish and Blotts for artifacts that could qualify for the last horcrux. Since the Sword of Gryffindor and the Sorting Hat were pretty well assured to be safe, the most likely answer seemed to be Ravenclaw’s Diadem, even though it had been lost for a thousand years. Colonel Stewart questioned Harry in much greater detail about Dumbledore’s reasoning for what the horcruxes were. She was of the opinion that his theory of Founders’ artifacts was probable, but it was wishful thinking to rely so heavily on that theory (not to mention to rely on three teenagers to solve the problem). However, in the course of the questioning, Harry’s strange connection with the Dark Lord came up.

“Now _that_ _’s_ interesting,” Stewart said. “Mr. Potter, would it be possible for you to use this connection to look into You-Know-Who’s mind.”

“No!” Hermione said urgently. Stewart raised an eyebrow at her. She hesitated. “Dumbledore wanted Harry to learn how to block You-Know-Who out from the start,” she said. “He…he couldn’t find a good enough teacher, though. So You-Know-Who used that connection to manipulate Harry before. He fed him false information, and it was a complete disaster…Harry’s Godfather was killed in that fight.”

“I see.” Stewart turned back to Harry: “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Potter, but you must understand that circumstances have changed dramatically. Your Dumbledore is dead, and we can work quickly to verify most information you receive. And keep in mind, I’m asking you to look around in You-Know-Who’s head, not waiting for him to feed you information.”

Harry considered this. “It _could_ work,” he reasoned. “But I’ve never done it before. And even if I can do it, he’d probably figure out that we’re hunting horcruxes.”

“But without any other information, it may be the only way to find out what the last horcrux is and where it is. We’ll just have to act fast then: find You-Know-Who’s base and be ready to storm it when you look into his mind.”

“Can we just kill him first and then get the horcruxes?” Ron suggested. “I mean, he was gone for ten years after Harry got rid of him the first time.”

Hermione shook her head: “That would work in principle, but if he’s a disembodied spirit, he can still possess people. Remember Quirrell? We don’t know how long it takes or how hard it is to fight, but we _do_ know he can kill people that way, and he’ll be harder to contain.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I think I’m gonna have to try it. I guess if you can find where he’s hiding out, I’ll do it, Colonel.”

“But it would be incredibly dangerous, Harry,” Hermione warned. “Remember, it wasn’t just the visions. You-Know-Who tried to possess _you_ the last time you got close to him.”

“But I _know_ I can fight that off, Hermione. Think about it; this could be _the power he knows not_.”

“The power he knows not?” Stewart asked.

“There’s a prophecy—They talked about it in the _Daily Prophet_. Haven’t you heard about it?”

“Only rumours there is one. We don’t know what it is.”

“Oh, well, it says I’m the one with the power to defeat You-Know-Who—that it has to be a fight to the end between him and me.”

“Bloody hell,” she breathed. “Are these prophecies…reliable?”

“Not always,” Harry said. “Dumbledore would say if you just ignore it and keep fighting the way you have been, it won’t come true. But it _does_ say I have a power You-Know-Who knows not, and I doubt that’s changed. Maybe this is it.”

She nodded in thought: “Plausible, but I’m not well-versed in this. I’ll have to question the people who surrendered from the Department of Mysteries. And before we do this, we _have_ to get into that Death Chamber…Once we have that and You-Know-Who’s location, we’ll go searching for the last horcrux. Until then, you three are free to move about the unrestricted parts of the facility. My men will keep you safe.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, thanks. I could do with stretching my legs,” Ron grunted, standing up.

“I’ll show you to the rec. room. It’s on my way.” Colonel Stewart escorted the trio through the holding facility, pointing out the mess hall and other important locations. They came to the front of the building where soldiers were still bringing prisoners through.

“Colonel!” a voice called. “We’ve got another one for you.”

They all turned and were stunned by what they saw.

“He surrendered in Hogsmeade this morning. He’s agree to tell us everything he knows.”

There, standing in handcuffs, was Severus Snape.

“YOU!” Harry roared, pulling his wand on the man. Hermione and several soldiers rushed to restrain him and Ron.

“Let me go! He murdered Dumbledore!” Harry shouted.

“Calm down, Mr. Potter, or I’ll have to take your wand,” Stewart ordered.

Harry and Ron both lowered their wands, but Harry snarled at Snape. “Colonel Stewart, he’s a traitor,” he said. “You can’t trust anything he says.”

“Don’t speak of that which you don’t understand, Potter,” Snape called out in response.

“I _saw_ you—!”

“You saw me play exactly the part that Dumbledore wanted me to play,” he replied, to Harry’s shock. Snape then turned towards the Colonel. “Colonel Stewart, I presume? I am Severus Snape, and since Mr. Potter brought it up, it _is_ true that I killed Albus Dumbledore, but I did so on his explicit orders. The old man was badly cursed and was already dying, and he wanted me to ‘prove my loyalty’ to the Dark Lord. But I am entirely against the Dark Lord, and I am willing to submit to any questioning you have for me.”

“Believe me, you’ll get it, Mr. Snape,” Stewart replied. “Take him to interrogation, and give him the truth serum cocktail. I’ll be there shortly.”

* * *

 

The good news was that Snape really was on their side, and he knew where Voldemort was. When the muggles invaded, Voldemort was smart enough to figure out he wouldn’t have a chance in the streets against an army, so he hid in the one place in Britain that might be able to keep them out: Hogwarts, just like Hermione had suspected. That presented problems for getting in, but if they _did_ get in, it would also take away what they feared might be his most devastating tactic against muggles: rapid-fire Apparition. Snape had locked down the wards before he left from the now-sealed Headmaster’s Office, so Voldemort wouldn’t be able to bypass them.

The bad news was that he had no clue what or where the last horcrux was, and Dumbledore had never known, either. Snape wasn’t actually sure how the old man had thought Harry would be able to find it on his own, and he admitted to questioning the man’s mental health for some time.

The worse news was something that blindsided and horrified everyone: Harry was a horcrux.

Ron and Hermione didn’t want to believe it at first, but Harry didn’t deny it. It made so many things fit that he felt like he’d always known somehow. Just to be sure, Colonel Stewart brought in an Unspeakable named Faraday who had decided to cooperate to check him over. It was true.

That was why they were having an emergency teleconference with a shell-shocked Mr. Weasley as Harry’s guardian, Unspeakable Faraday, and the Prime Minister.

“The books are very clear,” Faraday said. “The only way to destroy the soul fragment is to destroy the vessel it’s residing in.”

“That’s what mine say, too,” Hermione agreed.

“But…but Harry wasn’t a proper horcrux,” Mr. Weasley said, trying to wrap his head around it. “You-Know-Who didn’t do the ritual. Shouldn’t that mean something?”

“If the soul fragment is latched on, it doesn’t matter. Nothing short of death is going to dislodge it.”

“Well, we need another solution, Mr. Faraday,” the Prime Minister said. “We can’t kill a kid just to get rid of this terrorist. You’re supposed to know more about magic than anyone. Don’t you have any ideas?”

“Several, Mr. Blair, but all of them are very uncertain, and we have no way to test them.”

Colonel Stewart spoke up: “Snape told me that Dumbledore believed if You-Know-Who personally cast the Killing Curse on Mr. Potter again, it would kill the horcrux and leave him alive.”

“How’s that?” Blair asked.

“Honestly, I couldn’t follow the logic, sir. In fact, I’m not sure Snape did either. It was something about blood protection.”

“But that would mean sending Harry against You-Know-Who himself,” Mr. Weasley protested.

“And there’s no guarantee he’ll use that particular curse,” Blair agreed. “He’d be stupid to try the same thing again when there are so many other curses he could use. Mr. Faraday, what were your ideas?”

“Well, sir, it might be possible to modify the Killing Curse into some sort of exorcism spell to remove the horcrux. Or maybe a dementor could pull out the soul fragment whilst leaving Mr. Potter unharmed. Or maybe we could use the Veil of Death to pull it out without killing him by putting only his forehead through it. But all of those things are far more likely to kill him outright.”

But something caught Blair’s ear. “Wait, only his forehead?” he said. “Is the soul fragment just in his scar, or does it go through the rest of him?”

“It’s…it’s a little hard to tell…But it can’t go past his skull. If it physically went into his brain, it would have altered his personality. He has to be getting the visions magically somehow.”

“Then here’s an idea,” Blair said. “Why don’t you just cut out part of his skull and replace it with a titanium plate?”

Faraday gaped at the Prime Minister’s face on the screen. “Muggles can _do_ that?!”

* * *

 

“We don’t know how much time we’ll have after he figures out where the last horcrux is—and that’s if this even works. We may have to knock him out, cut out a piece of his skull and destroy it in the space of a few minutes.”

“We’re going to need a mobile operating theatre _inside_ the Department of Mysteries to even try that.”

“And we don’t know if trying to cut it out will release any dark magic—curse the surgeon or something.”

“It depends how self-aware the horcrux is and how powerful it is,” Faraday told the team. “According to the records, the danger of a standard horcrux lies in its will. If it wakes up, it could influence the…surgeons to turn on each other. But the soul fragment in Potter’s head might not be strong enough to do that. It could also try to possess him, but again, it might not be strong enough. Without any special protections, though, it won’t release any curses.”

“That’s all well and good, Mr. Faraday,” Stewart said, but it’s no help if we can’t actually get _into_ the Department of Mysteries. Do you have any leads on that?”

“Not easy ones. Or quick ones, rather. The Department of Mysteries can be locked down in ways that are impractical for the rest of the Ministry. It has provisions to withstand a long siege. At this point, I think we’re going to have to brute force it.”

“Brute force?”

“Have all the Unspeakables who surrendered lead a team to smash through the wards on the Department. We have enough knowledge to do it, but we’ll need wands.”

Colonel Stewart sighed. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Probably yes, ma’am.”

* * *

 

The Second Battle of the Department of Mysteries was brutal and terrifying. Though not as bloody as Diagon Alley or the Ministry, the unit that breached it suffered the highest percentage of casualties of any fighting in the war. And the things the Unspeakables did…well, most of the soldiers refused to talk about it afterwards. The brains that had attacked Ron Weasley two years ago, the time-manipulation magic, and the Veil of Death that had claimed Sirius Black were among the most mundane things down there. A couple of the soldiers went mad from what they had seen. One man had to be carried back up in the foetal position, rocking back and forth and muttering “Tekeli-li” to himself over and over.

Faraday and the other invading Unspeakables tried to reason with their coworkers, but two of them were Death Eaters and were able to sow enough confusion in their faceless robes to keep the fight going for quite a while. Finally, after hours of rooting through sealed horrors and abuses of the laws of nature, the SARR declared the Department of Mysteries secured. Even then, it was so disturbing that parts of the battle were never entered into the official record.

With the area cleared, the Locket of Salazar Slytherin and the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff were thrown through the Veil of Death at once. Then, equipment was quietly brought in to set up a mobile sterile operating theatre in the Department. Colonel Stewart initially wanted to place it in the Chamber of Death itself, but one look at the Veil and its effect on doctors and soldiers in particular, and she agreed to move it next door to the relatively benign Brain Room (although she made a note to have a long discussion with the Unspeakables about why they had a tank full of brains).

There was good news, though, after the carnage. After a couple of days of interrogations and talks, Colonel Stewart brought most of the other Unspeakables around to her side. A majority weren’t with the Death Eaters, and nearly all of them resented the Department being co-opted to spew their propaganda. They had just feared the dangerous secrets within falling into the wrong hands and had thus sealed it off. Once he was turned, Croaker, the Head Unspeakable was able to help with their plans. He reviewed the plan for Harry and ruled it plausible, and he also suggested a few safeguards to ensure the surgeons’ safety.

Stewart walked out of that meeting feeling much more confident. With all of the pieces in place, it was time to start laying plans for the Siege of Hogwarts.

* * *

 

Although he was well aware of the necessity of the situation, Harry Potter did not appreciate his present circumstances. He was strapped to a gurney in five-point restraints in a darkened room with a bright light shining in his face. He could hear and smell the brains swimming in the tank nearby. His friends weren’t allowed to be there with him and were still back at the SARR’s operating base to help coordinate the battle, and team of doctors surrounding him with sharp metal implements brought back unpleasant memories from his childhood. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been stuck with a needle. Such things just weren’t done in the wizarding world.

A team of guards armed with non-lethal weapons surrounded the operating theatre. If the horcrux tried to take control of the doctors, the guards could run in and drag them out. Croaker insisted that the horcrux would not be able to control that many people at once. The Unspeakable had also provided an enchanted mirror that allowed Colonel Stewart to communicate with the doctors in real time and relay Harry’s report of the last horcrux to the units now surrounding Hogwarts.

“Okay, Mr. Potter, the IV is in, but you’re just on saline now, so you shouldn’t feel anything,” the head surgeon said. “We’ve done all we can before the Colonel gives the go-ahead. I’m afraid we can’t help you with this mind-reading trick of yours. You’ll have to do whatever it is you do on your own.”

“It’s on you now, Mr. Potter,” Stewart confirmed. “Tell me where the last horcrux is, and I’ll tell the men to mobilise.”

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. He had been told the plan. The timing would only be possible with magic. Once he determined where the horcrux was, a section of soldiers would go by portkey to retrieve it and bring it to the Veil while most of the rest of the regiment attacked Hogwarts to keep Voldemort occupied. They would have to kill Nagini and Voldemort himself in one stroke, after the other horcrux and Harry’s scar were taken care of. There were a lot of things that could go wrong, but it had to be done.

Harry reached out, as he had not done before, to look into Voldemort’s mind. The presence he always felt at the back of his mind—instead of pushing it away, he pulled towards it. Images began to flit through his head—images of depraved acts, torture, and death that he never wanted to see again, but he pressed on, whispering a single thought in his head: _horcruxes_.

An image of a diary, destroyed with a basilisk fang through it, flashed in his mind.

He pressed harder: _Horcruxes. Horcruxes._

The ring that Dumbledore had destroyed, still intact in the vision.

_Horcruxes. Horcruxes._

Slytherin’s locket. Hufflepuff’s cup. And then…a delicate crown—one that he recognised: the Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.

He pushed harder, risking discovery, but desperate for an answer. _Where?_

An image of Hogwarts. A tapestry. A hidden room. Yes, it would be safe there. No one would ever find it. Only he, Lord Voldemort, had plumbed Hogwarts’ deepest secrets and understood the Room Where Everything Is Hidden.

Harry’s eyes opened with a jolt as the shock went through him. He recognised it. The memory came back to him: a wig on a bust on top of a cabinet in which he had hidden Snape’s old Potions book.

“I found it!” he yelled.

“You found it?” Colonel Stewart. “Where is it?”

“It’s at Hogwarts! It’s Ravenclaw’s diadem, like we thought. It was right under our noses. I’ve seen it—bloody hell, I _touched_ it, and I never knew!”

“Mr. Potter, _where_ is it?” she demanded.

“In the Room of Requirement. Ask for the Room Where Everything Is Hidden. Look for a bust with a wig on top of a cabinet. I hid my Potions book there last spring.”

Stewart looked over at Ron and Hermione, who were sitting out of view in case they were needed. “Did that make sense to either of you?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. We know exactly where it is,” Hermione said, sounding relieved. “We can direct the soldiers if we need to.”

“Alright. We’ll do that by the mirrors. Croaker, send the Horcrux Section to join the Chamber of Secrets Section at Hogwarts. We’re going to do this all at once. Doctor, put Mr. Potter under and begin the operation. We need that soul fragment out of him as soon as possible.”

“Good luck, Harry,” Hermione called.

The last thing Harry heard was the voices of soldiers springing into action as the Battle of Hogwarts began.

* * *

 

The attack on Hogwarts was to come from all sides. With You-Know-Who in the castle, they would need to strike swiftly. With the Unspeakables’ help, the SARR had Portkeyed in to various places around the castle, outside the wards. Alpha Company would emerge from the non-forbidden forest in their jeeps and roll up the front path from the east. Charlie Company would come along the river from the north, the actual Forbidden Forest being too full of dark creatures to be safe. Bravo Company, the shock troops, had dusted off some World War II amphibious assault vehicles and Portkeyed to the bottom of the Black Lake to storm the castle from the ravine below. Delta Company split off sections to enter through all seven secret passages from Hogsmeade, even the one that was caved in. The Death Eaters of course knew about all seven, but the idea was to keep the Death Eaters occupied on as many fronts as possible. And last of all, the newly-commissioned SARR Artillery Battery was split into two gun lines of three 105-mm howitzers each and ensconced just inside the wards on two of the mountains overlooking the castle. These would shell the castle as needed from outside spellfire range if the infantry encountered heavy resistance.

The section going for the Chamber of Secrets was not going through any of the secret passages, but was riding with Bravo Company. Severus Snape had been very helpful, drawing up a map of enough of the castle’s plumbing system to figure out how to get in through the drainage tunnels from the ravine. (After all, the basilisk had needed a way out to hunt.) Ron Weasley had pointed them in the direction to get to the Chamber of Secrets directly from there, but if they couldn’t find the way quickly, they would climb up to the second floor and go in through Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

And if this wasn’t the weirdest mission they’d ever been on, they didn’t know what was.

Colonel Stewart gave the order for them to move out through the Sergeant’s mirror—he being one of the few people in the regiment with magical communication—but she also told them to prepare for the arrival of the Horcrux Section. They had left space in the amphibious assault craft in case of the unlikely event that the last horcrux happened to be in Hogwarts. According to Potter, it was.

The Horcrux Section Portkeyed into the back of the craft and struggled to find their feet again. Magical travel was not pleasant. “What’s the situation?” the Chamber Section’s leader asked.

“We have to go all the way up to the seventh floor,” the Horcrux Section’s leader said. “We’ll come with you to get the basilisk fangs and then split off from there.”

“Got it. What’s our range?”

“We just crossed the wards,” their lead wizard said as he monitored their progress with some obscure spell. “Two hundred meters.”

“Forward units are hitting the shore now,” said a man with a periscope. “They’re moving out and securing a beachhead.”

“Any hostiles?”

“A few spells from above. No major attacks yet. The way’s clear to the drainage tunnels.”

“One hundred meters,” the wizard reported.

“Alright, places everyone!” the Section Leader said. “Move as soon as the door opens. We’ve got a clear path now, but we’ll need to get to cover fast.”

“Fifty meters…”

“Everybody ready…” Moments later, the vehicle hit the rocky shore, and the door slammed open.

_“MOVE!”_

You-Know-Who’s “army”, more thugs and mercenaries than true believers and having lost a majority of its elite fighters in the fighting over the past few days, was outnumbered five-to-one. But they also had Instant Death Curses that could kill a lot more easily than a rifle, at least at close range, and Exploding Curses that could fire a lot faster than RPGs. They also had the fortified high ground…and they were learning. The Spartans had inflicted _fifty_ -to-one casualties against the Persians through superior battle tactics, as had been made abundantly clear to the attacking soldiers so that they would remember they couldn’t afford to be sloppy.

Booms rang out around Bravo Company as they stormed the underbelly of the castle. Like the beaches at Normandy, the muggles went down fast, but they took more than a few Death Eaters with them by firing RPGs up at the windows they were casting from. More distant thumps transmitted through the ground—they would later learn from the other teams blasting their way through the sealed “secret” passages.

It was breeching the secret passages, which the Death Eaters weren’t prepared for, plus having battle mages on their side that made the difference. If it had been an all-muggle force fighting a magical army that had thought about and trained in fighting the muggle Army, they probably would have needed at least an entire tank battalion and maybe even aerial carpet bombing to do this.

The two key sections made their way to the drainage tunnels as the others provided cover fire. From there, it was easy. The Death Eaters hadn’t secured this part of the castle well and would take time to get reinforcements there. Better yet, the basilisk could only fit through pipes that were nearly as tall as a man (why the castle’s plumbing system was built that way was anyone’s guess), so it was easy to tell which way to go. With Snape’s and Potter’s instructions, they soon made it to the Chamber of Secrets. A recording of Harry speaking the Parseltongue password was played over the mirror to open the Chamber. They had taken the opportunity to test the system on the locket just before it was thrown through the Veil, so they were sure it would work. They grabbed hold of some basilisk fangs, fixing them to their rifles with modified bayonet mounts, then found the shaft up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom and scaled it with broomsticks and levitation spells and joined the fight.

* * *

 

Charlie Company ultimately hard the hardest job in this battle. Storming in as a mechanised unit, they found themselves assailed by dark creatures streaming from the Forbidden Forest on their left long before they reached the castle. There were enormous spiders the size of horses, brainless-looking lumps that fit the briefing description of trolls, feral-looking humans who were probably untransformed werewolves, and worst of all, giants. They’d been briefed on giants, but they’d hoped they were just rumours. There hadn’t been any confirmed reports of them at Hogwarts, but there were half a dozen fighting for You-Know-Who, and one giant was worth at least a dozen wizards.

Or rather, they were until an RPG hit the lead giant with the goblin-forged helmet square in the chest. In muggle wars, RPGs were anti-tank weapons designed to punch through twelve inches of solid steel. Golgomath fell over dead with a huge hole in his chest. At the sight of it, the other giants turned and ran, fighting their way through the spiders with their clubs, completely demoralised.

The spiders and trolls were, with some difficulty, dispatched by .50-calibre machine gun fire.

“Why didn’t we just bring the giant bloody can of Raid?” the captain said.

* * *

 

The East face of Hogwarts castle was being heavily shelled by the artillery, caving in all the upper-level windows where Death Eaters were defending as Alpha Company rolled up. The castle wards were strong, but they had been designed in the days of catapults, and the Death Eaters hadn’t had time to reinforce them enough to stand up to modern weaponry. You-Know-Who himself knew quite a bit about muggle military weapons, but his knowledge came from World War II and was all secondhand, so even he was a little out of date.

Under spellfire, Alpha Company rolled up to the castle walls at top speed. There were a lot more doors into the East Wing than the West Wing, so it was an ideal position for a superior force to surround and enter from all sides. Striking hard and fast, the soldiers entered through the greenhouses, the training grounds, the library wing, and others entrances and began sweeping both up and down from the ground floor to neutralise all hostiles and free the hostages—the teachers who had been in the building when You-Know-Who moved in. Colonel Stewart was watching personally on Potter’s magic map to make sure they didn’t miss anyone. Once they had the East Wing secured, they would cross the bridges to the West Wing and join the rest of the SARR in fighting You-Know-Who himself where he held court in the Great Hall.

“Fourth floor clear,” Stewart told Captain Yates over his magic mirror. He still couldn’t get over how weird this was, but he stuck to the mission. “Fifth floor clear.” There was a sound of flipping through pages. “Get more men on the seventh floor. We’ve got six hostiles following the Horcrux Section there.”

“Yes, ma’am. Seventh floor now!” He yelled to his section. “They need backup there.” The Captain led his men up the stairs where they found the Horcrux Section pinned down by a gang of Death Eaters. They were already down from nine men to seven. They must have encountered some fighting on the way up. But the wizards couldn’t stand up to a crossfire of better trained soldiers with faster weapons, and the six Death Eaters fell in under a minute.

“Much obliged, Captain,” the Section Leader said with a salute.

“Did you get the artifact, Section Leader?”

“Not yet, sir. We were just opening the door.” He motioned to one of his men, who walked back and forth down a stretch of corridor three times, revealing a door. Captain Yates stared when it was opened.

“What was it they say?” he said. “Merlin’s beard!”

Colonel Stewart’s voice sounded again in stereo from the two men’s mirrors: “Yates, gather your men and head to the bridges. The East Wing should be clear by the then you get there. Horcrux Section, finish the job, then follow them to look for the snake.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Yates and his section left while the Horcrux Section entered the Room of Requirement. It was huge; it was a total mess; and it had a frightening amount of dangerous looking magical junk in it. However, with Granger and Weasley helping direct them, they spread out and soon found the diadem on a bust on top of a cabinet, right where Potter said it would be.

“Best not to touch it,” Granger said in the mirror. “Stab it before it does anything.”

One of the soldiers knocked the bust off the cabinet with his fang-bayonet, letting the diadem roll on the floor. It stopped before the feet of one of the others.

“Stab it, private,” the Section Leader said.

The private raised his rifle to stab downward, but he hesitated and started to sweat.

“Is there a problem?” the Section Leader barked.

“It’s…it’s talking to me, Corporal.”

“Ignore it and stab it now. That’s an order.” He didn’t want to take any chances with _this_ kind of black magic.

The private still hesitated, his hands starting to tremble. That was a bad sign. “I…” he started to say.

_“Stab the damn jewelry, private!”_

The man lunged down and drove the point of the basilisk fang into the centre jewel of Ravenclaw’s diadem. Suddenly, a cloud of smoke burst from in it and swirled around the soldiers until it whipped into a miniature hurricane. There was a creaking, followed by a crash, and centuries’ worth of furniture came tumbling down on top of them.

* * *

 

Ron and Hermione winced when they heard the crash and the screams. The Section Leader’s mirror shattered, turning the image into a dark spiderweb of cracks and disjointed images, but the sound still came through with the collapsing furniture and the soldiers trying to stay on top of it.

“Section Leader?” Colonel Stewart said when it became relatively quiet. “Section Leader, report!”

“We’re—ugh—alive, ma’am,” the Section Leader groaned, and Stewart sighed with relief. “We destroyed the horcrux. Brought the place down on us though. Smith and Dobbs are hurt pretty bad, and it’s lucky Taylor was wearing a flak jacket, or she’d have taken a fang to the gut.”

“Alright, get out of there,” Stewart ordered. “Send two men to take your fangs to Alpha Company, then retreat to the nearest safe point.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he groaned.

“Croaker, what’s the status on Potter?” she called.

There was no answer for a minute. Ron and Hermione clutched each other’s hands for support.

“Croaker?” she demanded.

“Here!” the Unspeakable called. “Sorry. I was having an argument with the doctors over whether to use Skele-Gro to fix his head. The operation was a success. We got the horcrux out and we threw it through the Veil. It’s gone.”

“Good,” she said. “All units! You are cleared to engage the primary targets. Repeat: engage primary targets. Remember, we have to get the snake first. Let’s finish this.”

“How’s Harry, Mr. Croaker?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“He should recover fine if I can convince them not to put that plate in his head,” Croaker replied. “It’s a good thing I learnt the procedure, though. The horcrux influenced the surgeon more than we thought. He nearly killed Potter twice by cutting in the wrong place. I had to convince him to take a consensual Imperius to get him through it.”

“You can do that?” Ron said.

“In an emergency, yes. The bottom line is, you’re friend’s going to be fine, kid. Now we just have to take down You-Know-Who.”

* * *

 

The Great Hall was more of a classic head-on assault, given that it had only one easily-accessible entrance. Charlie and Delta Companies had forced the Death Eaters back from where they had entered the castle, pushing the remaining group of less than a hundred to barricade themselves in the Great Hall while the better part of a thousand muggle soldiers and battle mages had to plough in like a Roman phalanx. The Chamber Section and the runners from Alpha Company had moved up near the front to attack the snake-horcrux that intelligence said was in there with them. When the order came to engage all targets, the soldiers took their places and threw two hand grenades against the barricaded doors.

_BOOM!_

The doors blasted inward, and the soldiers in the front ranks ran forward, guns blazing, and the battle mages and liberated teachers followed up with all the curses they could think of. The remaining Death Eaters, including all that was left of the inner circle, didn’t hold back, casting almost entirely Instant Death Curses, dropping soldiers’ bodies in heaps near the entrance. But the Death Eaters couldn’t dodge and couldn’t conjure solid enough shields fast enough to escape the hail of lead and spellfire, especially in such a confined space, and they fell just as fast. On the scale of a castle, they could have mounted a nigh-impenetrable defence, but in this glorified kill box, they didn’t stand a chance.

The noise was deafening, so that no one could here each other shouting. The House Tables and High Table were used as barricades and promptly shredded by bullets. The torches were shot from their brackets. Floating candles fell from the air, lighting the rubble on fire. Voldemort stood at the centre of the High Table, casting curses as fast as he could and shielding anything that came his way. Unfortunately, he didn’t send Nagini to the front lines, despite believing her to be invulnerable, but kept her in reserve.

The casualties inflicted were almost one to one in the Great Hall. By the standards of modern muggle militaries, that was still a devastating blow to the SARR. They lost close ten percent of their numbers in the few days of fighting (though the enemy lost three times that in absolute numbers). That was the level of damage wizards could do if they really pulled out all the stops. The SARR just couldn’t carry enough physical shielding to block that many Unforgivable Curses. God forbid, if they ever needed to do this again, they would be more prepared, but the Prime Minister fully intended them to work with the wizards from now on to prevent things from getting this bad again.

When the Death Eaters were beaten back to a dozen or so, and bodies littered the floor of the entire Great Hall, Voldemort finally sent out Nagini. Immediately, every soldier who had a basilisk fang pounced on her with another dense knot of soldiers providing cover fire. Voldemort realised only too late what they were doing. Nagini got a few bites in, but even she wasn’t fast enough to stand up to such superior numbers.

The fighting intensified still further after that as the soldiers turned their rifles on Voldemort himself. The Death Eaters melted as they were overwhelmed by the seeming endless tide of muggles with machine guns until only the Dark Lord himself was still standing. He must have killed a dozen from behind his heavy shield before they took him down, but even he couldn’t hold out forever. Over the sound of sustained gunfire, they could just hear him shout, “No! No! This isn’t possible! I am invinci—”

_BOOM!_

An RPG blasted through Voldemort’s shield like tissue, and the continued machine gun fire turned him into swiss cheese before he could get off another spell. Voldemort’s body seemed to drop in slow motion, and moments later, an ear-ringing silence fell in the Great Hall.

“Colonel Stewart, this is Captain Yates,” Alpha Company’s leader called it in. “All targets neutralised. Repeat: all targets neutralised. It’s over.”

* * *

 

Kate Stewart leaned back in her seat wearily, releasing the tension that she had built up over the past days. Ron and Hermione looked at each other and realised they’d been holding onto each other for dear life the entire time as they’d recoiled in horror as the sounds of gunshots went on and on in the mirrors. They paused for a beat and then kissed heatedly.

Stewart didn’t seem to notice, being more preoccupied with her soldiers. She didn’t know how many had died, but she could guess it was a lot, especially for a single regiment and a single operation. They’d have a lot to deal with soon, but all she could say in that moment was, “Good job, everyone. Mission accomplished.”


End file.
